


Space Jim

by deawrites



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Pining, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 02:43:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12448026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deawrites/pseuds/deawrites
Summary: Jim and Harvey are USMC soldiers and after an insurgent strike on their base they are separated. Can they find one another again?





	Space Jim

**Author's Note:**

> All comments, criticisms, kudos, suggestions and statements welcome. 
> 
> Yes, I know the story could have drug on and on but I had to end it somehow.
> 
> To my wife who told me, "I'd still call it Space Jim" when I was looking for an official title. You're right Baby, it's more fun this way! :D

PIPE DREAMS

“Decontamination begins in fifteen seconds”. The electronic and feminine, disembodied voice drifted down from somewhere above him. Jim closed his eyes and breathed in the stale, barely oxygenized air. The decontamination pod was small; some found it claustrophobic even with the two by three window panel mounted in the front, and claustrophobic it was indeed. However terrorized Jim felt during the thirty second process, the need for such protective measures were never in doubt. The seven-inch synthetic plastic would trap anything from a point zero, zero, five contaminate level all the way up to a grade seventeen. There were some pods; more expensive ones; that went as high as thirty grades, but most people Jim had contact with thought they were an urban legend. Even if they did exist Jim doubted the military would foot the bill for any that weren’t used exclusively by the commanding generals.

 

“Six…. Five…Four…Three, “Jim sometimes counted aloud with the disembodied voice just to entertain himself, yet mostly he remained silent. The first blast of air was frigid, snapping his skin cells to attention, his lungs expanded in a way that seemed almost unnatural. Yet this sensation only lasted for a heartbeat, before the flow of air was a constant stream around him and he could breathe at a normal rate. The ice wind shifted to streams of tepid water cascading over his naked flesh. One-day Jim would love to have a hot, unhurried shower. Something to look forward too, to have just one time before he died. Every shower he had ever had in his life, or sink bath had been with either room temperature or cold water. He dreamed of hot, steaming, water caressing him in his utmost of wildest fantasies, as Jim had little faith that he ever would experience such a luxury.  So many pipe dreams and not enough piping to carry them. That was everyone’s story now days. The Earth was in its last death throws and only the very impoverished or stubborn refused to leave. Jim fell into the former category; he was a foot soldier; one of the poorest paid government civil servants left. Remained behind until now. Tomorrow he would be on a shuttle freighter headed for Gotham Central Space Port; the infamous pitstop on the way to the uncharted territories of the known colonized galaxies. It was a lawless planet, but a good place for a have not to find a way to obtain some “have” before moving on. If Jim was one thing it was an indentured “have not”; always had been, and most likely always would be.

 

“Decontamination wash cycle complete. Stand by for UV protection and spore repellent application, in ten seconds.”  Jim couldn’t help but smirk. Such a pretentious way to let someone know you were going to apply a coat of some chemical sludge to their flesh to try and keep it from bursting into flames if direct sunlight hit it. The same sludge that prevented a person from growing some agricultural wonder on their skin in a matter of hours following exposure to ambient air. Jim didn’t put too much faith in the ‘shielding capabilities of the applications; he figured they were just as deadly as what they allegedly protected one from. Yet every time he went to the surface he went to the decontamination pods and endured the process. The blast of air was heavy; oily; and he held his breath during the spray not wishing to inhale the chemicals into his lungs. He wanted to die a warrior’s death and not with buildup in his lungs from the applications of protection. He had known a few fellow soldiers that had developed diseases from the chemical spray, but those were “isolated cases” the government had assured them. Whether the soldiers believed, Jim couldn’t say. However, he had seen the direct effects and they were memorable. Mushrooms and hard thorns of some type growing unfettered out of blistering and open wounds that formed overnight. It was painful, non-treatable and life threatening if the mushrooms grew in the airways, lungs or brain.

 

“Decontamination process complete. Please exit the pod to your right.”

 

A few seconds following the announcement the door unsealed and opened. Jim stepped out onto the black mat in front of the pod, a fresh uniform, boots and under clothing awaiting him. The decontamination process didn’t segregate men from the women, usually everyone kept their eyes to their own bodies and clothing. Jim dressed quickly, efficiently and moved out of the decontamination area and to the steel catwalk that separated this sector from the entrance to the barracks.  He was tired, and he was going to catch a few hours of sleep before he had to return to the surface, only to begin the decontamination process for what he hoped, would be the final time. Gotham Central Space Port was on his immediate horizon, where a new life awaited him. A new beginning that he had been scrimping and saving for to purchase passage on the cargo ships that still shuttled between Mars, the Moon base and Earth.  His older brother Roger had left the planet decades ago taking their mother with them to one of the outlying colonies in another system’s answer to Earth, called Padora. Jim had never been there but received updated messages of his mother and brother’s lives. Roger had married and had two children; a boy and a girl; that were now in high school and Jim doubted he would ever lay eyes on them. The boys’ father; Jason Gordon; had been murdered during the Martian Wars when Jim was only eight.  That was the day that changed everything for Jim. The day that he lost his best friend and father; the day he went from a privileged child that had enough to eat and place to live, to a child that went to bed hungry at night in shelters his mother found refuge in. Jim’s childhood had not been the best, but then again that was the rule and not the exception on Earth for over a century and would continue to be until the planet finally died.

 

When Jim came of age at sixteen he joined the military just so that he would have a stable place to live and food to eat daily. He discovered that he took to the discipline and work ethic, and found a new family in the form of his fellow soldiers. For once in Jim’s life he felt as if he had a purpose and was happy. Though he mourned his father and missed his mother and brother, Jim had many mentors, friends and brothers/sisters over the years to make him feel like he belonged. While he didn’t want for his basic needs Jim had simple dreams of one day falling in love and marrying someone, adopting children and building a home with his own two hands. Just like getting to experience having a hot bath or shower, Jim knew it was a pipe dream at best and a silly fantasy at worst. Who was ever going to love the likes of him when he had nothing to offer a mate? No riches, no property, no security of any kind past being able to physically protect them. Yet still there was a part of him that held on to hope of; at the very least; being a husband. Was it so wrong to wish to be loved? As brief as his mother’s life with his father had proved, sharing your life with another was the one thing that made life worth living.

 

After a few hours of sleep Jim elected to grab a quick meal and a few drinks with his fellow Marine’s at the Red Flag Canteen, one of three bars USMC BASE#11 boasted. His pensive and morose feelings prior to his nap had lifted and he was seeking the camaraderie of his fellow soldiers. Stomach full and a few beers down Jim’s cheeks were rosy and he couldn’t stop smiling at his best friend in the world, Harvey; when he approached the table of six Jim was a part of.

 

“You’re such a fucking baby, Junior.” Harvey Bullock teased affectionately with a smile as he slid into the seat beside his best friend in all the world and brother in arms, Jim Gordon. “How did you expect to make it through your career; let alone the flight to Gotham’s Port, huh? Even the snail of all transports pulls G’s and you’re gonna be puking up your guts at the slightest shimmy.” Harvey shook his head, a few strands of red hair falling across his forehead. His smile brought light to his green eyes so infectious, that even insulted Jim joined in. “I dunno, Junior,” he used the affectionate nick name usually when they were alone, but Harvey was a little drunk and hadn’t seen Jim all day.  “It’s shameful. Here you’re supposed to be a tough ass Marine, but you’re just a puking baby in the sky.”

 

“Said the man with a woman’s hair style.” Jim stated dead pan before taking a sip of Harvey’s drink. He braced himself for what he knew was coming next and Harvey didn’t disappoint. Jim’s ears were nearly ringing from the force of the blow to his upper arm. He was going to have a bruise there but he was used to that. He was used to Harvey in all his military trained glory. Harvey was an excellent pilot, and Jim wasn’t. Simple facts, but Jim was better at strategy and sniper shots than Harvey was and their weaknesses made the other vital in a combat situation. Jim couldn’t help it if he had an inner ear deformity that made him sensitive to g-force speeds.

 

“Might I remind you, that I’ve had more sex than you’ll ever _have_?” Harvey growled seizing his drink out of Jim’s hand and downing half of it before handing the glass back to Jim.

 

“Maybe, but you’re still a lousy shot.” Jim teased chuckling at the narrowing of Harvey’s eyes. Harvey then began rattling off in Gaelic knowing full well that Jim could only understand about every other word but continued to insult him anyway. The heart of the matter was that they were intimate friends, comrades, and loyal to one another to the bitter end. It could even be said that they loved one another deeply, but not the kind of love that would take them to the step beyond platonic brotherhood of the USMC into marriage and a family. At least Jim didn’t dare to hope for anything romantic; he was too afraid to lose what he did have with Harvey to risk asking him if there could be much more. “Blah, blah, _blah_.” Jim teased rolling his eyes. “Irish men are all mouth.”

 

“If that’s what you think, Gordon then why you attempt to speak Gaelic, huh?” he punched him again, taking care to nail him in the same spot he had before, drilling his knuckles into his flesh. Childish yes, but regardless of Harvey’s decade seniority to Jim’s mere thirty years of life; Harvey’s ribbing was always in good fun. Everything truly was when it passed between them, a bond that no external person could touch and not come away bloodied.

 

“He has a weakness for baser languages?”

 

Both Harvey’s and Jim’s gazes shot to the intrusive speaker, a third Marine at the table finally making his presence known. Jim didn’t reach him first, because Harvey had launched himself across the table and was pummeling the man’s face, before Jim could make it around to the opposite end of the table. He pulled Harvey off the other Marine, another two-male’s stepping in to pull their bleeding comrade up off the floor.

 

“Let it go, Bullock.” Jim breathed into Harvey’s ear, his arms pinning Harvey’s, while his hands held his wrists. He wouldn’t let go when Harvey kicked out at the offending Marine spiting at him and cursing up a storm about racist bullshit.  “He’s not worth the price.” Jim reminded his brother about the disciplinary action that would be taken against him for assaulting a fellow Marine regardless of the extenuating provocation.

 

“Then you shoot him, Jim!” Harvey snarled over his shoulder at his friend. “Blow his fucking empty head off his shoulders since you think you’re the superior shot, huh? Turn that ignorant ass’s tongue into mist!”

 

“If you really want me too.” Jim promised in a bare whisper in Harvey’s ear. “But for now dial it back and I’ll let go.”

 

Growling, Harvey surrendered, relaxing in Jim’s hold and true to his word, Jim released him and backed away a few steps, patting Harvey gently on the back. “You talk to me again, and I’ll fucking slice your tongue outta your throat!” Harvey promised pointing at the racist Marine. Harvey then rounded to glare at Jim and before he shouldered past him, making his way to the bar to order another drink.

 

Jim stood his ground and stared angrily at the offending Marine, who happened to be a lower rank than he was. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Lloyd?” Jim demanded with venom to his tone. Lloyd was bleeding profusely from the nose which was obviously broken. “Leave the prejudice-ass-comments for the battlefield. You say one more thing to Bullock tonight and I’ll rip your tongue out myself! Understood?”

 

“Bullock- “

 

“Under- **fucking** -stood?” Jim demanded cutting off all further complaint. Reluctantly Lloyd agreed and Jim nodded at the two Marine’s flanking him. “Get him back to the barracks and outta sight.” Jim then turned away from the three, confident that his directive would be followed. He flanked Harvey at the bar and motioned to the bartender for a beer. He paid for both drinks and watched Harvey’s profile for a silent pause.

 

“You really want me to kill him?”

 

Harvey’s lips pursed in a hard line. “You don’t kill Marine’s, Junior. Only you are way fucked up enough to ask me.”

 

Jim smiled and bumped Harvey’s left shoulder with his right. “I’d do it just for you.”

 

He knew Jim would and Harvey smiled in return. “Maybe some other time, Jim.” They grinned at one another and clicked glasses, not realizing that this was the last drink they would ever share together.

 

“What’s Lloyd got against the Irish anyway? Or is it just me?”

 

“Probably just you.” Jim stated with an amused wink. “He’s not intelligent enough to hate properly.”

 

“Yeah, I get that feeling too.” Harvey grumbled taking a sip of whiskey. He swallowed and pushed his arm against Jim’s. “So next month when I leave for Gotham Central Port? You better have a place for me to crash when I get there.”

 

Jim placed his hand upon Harvey’s shoulder and rubbed it, ring finger and pinky lightly brushing his neck. He was not physically intimate with anyone the way he was with Harvey. It only ever felt natural to him with the Irishman, even his attempts at seduction of women/men seemed awkward and stuttering in Jim’s estimation. “It may just be a shipping container, but it’ll have a place for you to lay your head.” Jim promised. He smiled tenderly at Harvey and continued rubbing, his hand sliding down to the back of his shoulder. “I wish you were leaving with me now.”

 

Harvey frowned. “Duty calls. You might out rank me but you know I’m almost an officer.” He said the word with a sneer that brought a light laugh to Jim’s tone. “There’s work to be done before I can pass the torch and my contract is up.”

 

“What do you have against officers anyway?” Jim teased knowing full well the answer.

 

Harvey looked at him and grinned. “You’re one. What else is there?”

 

“Asshole.” Jim laughed patting Harvey on the back before withdrawing his hand. He reached to raise his beer to his lips when it happened.

 

The explosion ripped through the building tearing the façade right off the foundations, exposing the two upper floors, and causing the basement to collapse beneath the first floor. Being at the bar and furthest away from the front of the building, saved Bullock and Gordon’s lives. In the aftermath of deafening silence and the buzzing in his ears, Harvey tried to focus his gaze, the smoke and falling debris out of place from the instant before. Jim was there; he had to be, and Harvey’s frantic search for him ended nearly as quickly as it began. Harvey couldn’t hear, could barely see, and his lungs were heavy with dust, but he felt the reassuring grip of Jim hands; one on his arm, the other on his shoulder. he turned to face Jim, who was covered in dust, there was a little blood smeared at his shoulder, his uniform was torn at the sleeve, but he was whole. He was speaking to him, but Harvey couldn’t make out the words; he couldn’t hear.

 

Jim’s hands moved quickly to Harvey’s head, his friend’s focus honed on his mouth and he took a breath and was able to read Jim’s message. Harvey nodded; he was unharmed. Jim reached for his side arm, one of his hands leaving the reassuring solidness of Harvey’s cheek to do so. Soldiers found security in things that the civilian population could never understand. The two men rose as one, sifting through the devastation of the building, moving point, looking for foes among the fallen brethren. If Harvey had known that acting on instinct would cause him more harm than good, he would have never left Jim’s side, and been more than happy to fall at his back where whatever gods would have to sort their remains.  The enemy was there seconds later, home grown idealists with their own agenda of what the remaining American Government should be focused on, and hell bent on spreading their message any way that would get the most media coverage and make the world leaders pay attention to their mounting presence. Harvey didn’t follow politics much anymore past what enemy he would be pointed at to destroy. He didn’t care that the Earth governments were hollow, barely viable phantoms at best. He wasn’t aware that a planet or two outside of the current solar system were making a play for the remainder of the resources the planet had left to offer. This direct attack wasn’t about the club; it was the base; the very military itself. All over the compound explosions were going off, weapons were being fired and people were dying. USMC Base# 11 was being hit where it lived and there weren’t going to be very many prisoners left standing when the dust settled.

 

If Harvey had known any of this, he would have shadowed Jim like debris smoke floating off their clothes in this unexpected chaos. If he had known any of this, he would have not been fooled by the uniforms flooding the street outside of the building. When the men started firing he looked for Jim, but the hail of bullets tore through the remaining destruction of the bar. Harvey abruptly felt fire, hot then cold blast through his right leg, and lower torso. Why the fuck were Marine’s shooting at their own? Harvey fell, took cover and tried to focus his gaze. His head was still pounding from the explosion and there was blood at his ears, and nostrils. Jim had been closer to the bar just a few seconds ago, the Marines were taking point, fanning out and working their way inside. Harvey saw the muzzle blasts and felt cold horror seep up his spine.  This was an execution; a purging; and he had to save himself now and pray that he could meet up with Jim later to figure out just what the fuck to do after. _After_ : that was a million years away and Bullock focused on the now. Crawling back towards a half blown out wall he sought escape. he was hurt but he was still moving; and with that knowledge came the hope that he would succeed. Harvey made it out of the building but not unseen. They were coming for him; for a few other bewildered survivors of the initial blast he had crawled into, were with him as well. Two weren’t armed but they made quick work of comrade’s corpses stripping them of their unnecessary weapons. Bullock wasn’t a leader by choice but he had seen the right way to do it. First move to a more secure location then assess inventory of munitions.  They never made it to the secure location and Harvey’s injuries were enough to slow him down to become easy prey. Harvey didn’t go down without taking a few of the bastards with him; to do otherwise would be untrue to his warrior’s spirit. Out of ammunition he was surprised when a few Marine’s came at him, rather than cut him down with weapons fire where he barely stood, but he was on his feet. Physical combat? Were they fucking kidding him? His vision was a bit spotty and he still couldn’t hear past the continual whine of blood through his ears, but he was ready for them. Harvey had his knife and he would use it; these weren’t comrades; these were vermin and they had come to his house to fuck everything up. Harvey was furious and in the back of his mind he prayed he left a beautiful corpse behind.

 

When Harvey regained consciousness two hours later, the flicker of freighter florescent lights were above him, pain ricocheting through his systems at a constant rate he wondered why he wasn’t dead. Looking around the make shift infirmary in the cargo hold of a pirated transport, he accepted that he would have been better off dead. Testing the binds of his gurney he closed his eyes and bore his teeth. He still couldn’t hear, though the swarming buzz in his head sounded more like words of other soldiers around his calling out for their friends. Who the fuck had them, and what the fuck were they going to do with them once their destination was reached? Harvey bit his bottom lip and kept himself from shouting for Jim. If any son of a bitch on the entire fucking planet had managed to get away to fight another battle it would have been him.  Harvey bit his lip until he tasted blood, and he managed to suppress his tears.  Slavers had him, but he held on to the hope that Jim was free and that the younger male wouldn’t rest until he found Harvey.

 

AFTER

The uniformed figures entering the blown out, hallow of the building façade, weren’t friendly reinforcements. They were there to cut through the wounded and reap souls as well as any hope of escape as they went. This was a purging; a cleansing and Jim Gordon had seen too many such missions performed to be fooled by it. They wore the Marine Corps uniform but they were harbingers of death. What they didn’t count on is that Jim, Harvey and others were going to fight back in the here and now. He was going to get what brothers in arms he could to a safer vantage point, and he was going to turn the tide of the battle or go down swinging. His first burst of thought was of Harvey: If there was ever another warrior he wanted by his side now it was Bullock.

 

Jim looked in Harvey’s direction and saw him fall beneath blasts from the approaching army. Initially he didn’t trust his eyes, but there was little he could do to analyze it beyond the burst of anger that seared through him. He felt bile rise in his throat and for a split second his gut churned in horror, to be burned through by the wave of fury. He took aim and one by one the men began falling. He backed deeper into the building and grabbed munitions and weapons from the dead as he went. They were killing his brethren; his family; and they were not going to get away with it free of pain.

 

Bullock: his image laying there bleeding on the ground kept Jim focused and moving. He didn’t stop. Harvey would have yelled at him to keep moving; would have pushed him from behind, hell bent on getting him out before himself. That was the kind of solider Harvey was; Jim’s equal but someone he discovered so easy to love. Jim found an exit and he cut down the piquet guarding it. He moved further through the base, picking up body armor and more weapons as he went. He ran into a contingent of familiar faces that were just as dumb struck and furious as he was, by the audacity of such an attack on their playground. Survival became a matter of finding a place to make a stand, and waiting. Jim wasn’t very adept at waiting but the situation called for it and some of his comrades needed to be convinced. Information gathering was vital, and there was no telling who could be trusted and who could not be. The higher echelon of the chain of command had been the first targets and Gordon was no fool. Cut off the head and the rest of the body fell; only right now, with the few men around him, that body was not falling just yet.  It didn’t. The invading forces moved on after a few hours of bloodletting occupation leaving Jim and the small contingent of survivors to gaze in wonder at the carnage left behind. Jim and the remaining men held to him for command and began the gruesome work of sifting through the ashes, of making plans to bury the dead in a mass grave; in calling for help from the government. It was a sad chapter in the US military, USMC Base #11 was not the only casualty, but it was the one that mattered most to Jim. Base #11 was his home. Every solider barracked there fought with him at one point or another, and now they were all gone.

 

Two weeks after the massacre Jim would have a chance to be alone in his thoughts and reflect upon all he had lost- and the one that had forever made all else bearable: Harvey Bullock. Jim bowed his head forward as silent tears streamed down his cheeks. He was gone, and he felt completely empty; numb without the comforting knowledge that Harvey was just at his shoulder. The sobs came seconds later and he covered his face with his hands in attempts to smother the sounds. There was no one near him, no eavesdropping ears to judge, just a man and his anguished grief. Harvey was gone; and with him was Jim’s ability to trust beyond the battle field. Harvey was a scar that would forever ache in phantom memory of the wound inflicted. Harvey had made Jim feel human, and now he was gone and not one talking head had granted him a reasonable explanation that he could stand behind, as to why. What had happened? Waste, tragedy; all the years Jim had spent on battlefields in the aftermath, and this was not a war he had been engaged in. It was a fight he had borne witness too and been helpless to prevent. This was a wakeup call; his contract was up and this time Jim knew he would leave the Marine’s and Earth behind. He was reborn and there was not even a shadow of his former heart remaining. That had died with Harvey Bullock. Jim was done with being a pawn for masters that didn’t value the very warriors that enabled them to remain in power.

 

While he had never found Bullock’s body; at least that could be identified; he had followed the blood trail, and found Harvey’s dog tags among a scorched area of ground where he had made his last stand. The tags were damaged, but his name was still visible. Jim knew there was only one tribute good enough to honor a man like Bullock. It took him a while to gather the materials he needed, and ensure the workmanship would be enough to do him justice. Now the dog tags were a part of the firing box on Jim’s most prized possession. Harvey’s name would be forever a part of Jim’s; USMC M40A3 sniper rifle. No other hand would ever touch Her, or Harvey’s tags; as long as Jim had breath in his body. After that? The two of them were left for the gods to decide their fates. Once She was finished, Jim packed Her up and his meager belongings and left Earth and USMC Base# 11 behind.

 

“SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL” (Title by The Rolling Stones)

The standard 57-XR12 super freighter wasn’t the fastest ship by any stretch of the imagination. She threatened to shake apart piece by piece if the crew took her over sub-light speed. Forget about hyperspace; the damned drives would blow up at the mere imputing of coordinates let alone if they were actually fired for a jump. A longer flight had its advantages; the crew discovered that Jim had some mechanical capabilities and he was put to work immediately on the obstinate light-speed drives. It was something to do, and Jim enjoyed solving problems. He didn’t have to interact with people; he was contributing to the journey, and keeping active instead of wandering the limited space in the freighter not laden with cargo, longing for them to reach their destination: And mourning Harvey.

 

It took him a few weeks, but low and behold if he didn’t manage to get the damned things working enough to place them three jumps closer to Gotham Central Space Port. A journey that would have taken 3 years was now whittled down to four months due to his efforts. Not that the Broker for his passage gave him a discount, hell no; business was business and Jim hadn’t expected anything less. While that aspect didn’t even register as a disappointment in his world, Jim had managed to pull a few names out of the grateful crew of who the strongest landholders were, and a few warlords might be in need of more men. Contacts were vital if you were a stranger to one of the three ports of Gotham Central. While Alpha was the largest; and where Jim was headed; it didn’t mean that you could pass under the radar unnoticed.

 

New meat wasn’t dismissed with a casual flick of the wrist. You were either money to be made from, services to broker, or brute man power to fill an empty space. Jim found an unnamed bar, electing to take in the scenery before pushing further into the city. He was armed, he carried himself like ex-military and he noticed _everything and everyone_ that was within range of his mental radar. They could label him whatever they wished, hell, he might even give them a false impression just to be safe, but he was looking for someone in particular. Not that he had a name; not that he knew what, or whom would rise before him; it was just a matter of exposure: Jim to the port and the port to Jim.

 

The first thing he needed was a hot meal and supplies. Meal first and then he would recede into the scenery and find his way to a supply depot. Then it was to find a place to bed down for the approaching night, and more permanent lodgings the following day. He made his way through the crowded hole in the wall bar; the best places to start were always the smaller, more intimate places. He found a seat at the bar and hailed the Bartender. The guy had seven scars crisscrossing his features in a very unappetizing manner. Jim barely noticed scars anymore; he had created and received so many in his career they were as expected as breathing.

 

“Don’t know you.” The Bartender growled at him, the scars on his throat running deeper than visible. They affected his vocal cords but he could make himself heard above the din of the bar well enough. “Don’t know you, don’t serve you. Either make a friend here I _do_ know, or get the fuck out.” He turned away from Jim without even a glance and returned to the opposite end of the counter.

 

All things considered, Jim had just received a stellar welcome to Alpha Port in Gotham Central.

 

RUSTY CAGE (Title by Soundgarden)

The first hurdle Jim had overcome in order to gain employment was infiltrating one of the local fight clubs that were scattered throughout the Alpha Space port. The lawless loved to bet, and there was nothing better to wager against than one man against another in a contest of strength, skill and experience. Plus, the local warlords sometimes frequented the clubs seeking man power to scavenger for their own armies. It was this steady employment that Jim was hoping for. Everyone had to start somewhere and Jim had a warrior’s spirit. It was one thing agreeing to fight another human; but the sport of the match was pitting a human against an unknown element and see how he fared. So, Jim fought whomever, or whatever was placed in front of him. What money he received in victory that didn’t go towards medical treatment went into his living expenses.

 

He wasn’t a flashy opponent. He didn’t taunt his fellow fighter, talk shit, or make loud promises to the crowds in hopes of hedging the bets. He watched, he assessed, he called upon his skills of observation and attention to detail to gauge how best to approach his opponent. Sometimes he misjudged miserably and others, he found the key elements to survival and victory relatively quickly. While he didn’t enjoy killing for the sake of the fact that he was capable of mortal victory; he did what was necessary to ensure him the pay at the end of the night, just like his opponent would have done in his stead. There was a release of bottled up anger in this fighting technique that was extraordinary to observers but as natural as breathing to Jim.  If Jim Gordon was one thing, it was angry. With Harvey gone there was no point in him holding himself back from the darkness any longer. In every cage match Jim released his inner fury prepared to live not die as fate dictated.

 

After nearly a year, Jim judged it time to stop fighting and earn his pay in a less dangerous arena. The problem was just where to turn from there? Without an invitation from a warlord or acknowledgment above them from the true powers in Gotham Central, you were pretty much fucked in way of job offers. At least the jobs with the higher pay scales. Jim despised having his mortality depend on the whims of others. He knew there was something he had yet to do that was required of him. Whatever that task was, he would not lose his life in battle, or by any other means, until that singular task was completed. As fortune would have it about the time Jim was finishing up his fighting career, he had a job offering.

 

Benny Lafitte worked for the Falcone family who were the wealthiest family in Gotham City, a satellite planet just a small distance from Gotham Central space ports. Gotham City crime family headed by Don Carmine Falcone controlled everything from air space to the three port landing facilities in the system. All cargo manifests went through their administrative port authority and everyone in the Central and City proper answered to them. There were competitors; the Maroni’s who ran the fighting rings and the Cobblepot’s that populated city hall; yet both families were dictated to by Don Carmine Falcone. Benny was the Falcone Corporation’s chief of security and handled the day to day security issues of the family and its subsidiaries. Always on the lookout for fresh talent he often surveyed the fight rings around the City. He had been keeping an eye on Jim for months now, the unformidable looking man went by the moniker, ‘Soldier’ but there was more to Jim Gordon than met the average eye. Benny wasn’t average; he assessed and approached Jim after he had left the fighting cages for good.

 

Jim was at a bar nursing some aches and pains with a quiet drink in a corner of the room; his back to the wall; when Benny arrived at his table with a bottle of blue liquid; the expensive stuff by Jim’s experience.

 

“Mind if I have a seat with you, Chief?” Benny asked his Southern drawl giving him away as likely being from the Padora system. Jim smirked at the memory of his mother and brother before motioning to the chair across from him.

 

“Help yourself. And the name’s Jim; Gordon if you’re inclined to be formal.”

 

“Typically.” Smiled Benny in gratitude. “But not today, friend. I’m Benny Lafitte; I run security for Falcone Corporation around these parts. I’ve seen you fight Jim, and I’d like to offer you a position,”

 

“I’m not a mercenary.” Jim interrupted sharply though his expression was still kind. “And I don’t fight for corporations anymore.”

 

Benny uncapped the bottle he held and poured some of the blue fluid into Jim’s empty glass. “You wouldn’t be working for a corporation. You would be working for me personally. I’m assigning you to be part of an elite security detail and act as a personal body guard to a member of the Falcone family.” The name struck little fear into Jim as evidenced by the dulling of his eyes. Benny sought to bring his attention back around. “I’ve seen you fight, I peg you as ex-military but seeking purpose. I can provide that for you. Right this very minute. You don’t have to trust me, I respect that as being earned. All I will ask is that you come by the Falcone compound and speak with me. I’ll officially offer you the position and you can say yes or no as your heart moves you.”

 

Jim thought about his options which were sorely limited at the moment. He thought about a steady source of income and the security that brought with it. He thought about Harvey and knew that the man would niggle at him until Jim agreed to; at the very least; hear Benny out. In the next breath he would warn Jim off working for someone as high profile as the Falcone’s, but want him to hear the pitch all the same.  He could find better housing; use money to pay for time at the metal forge near port B and craft himself some fifty caliber bullets for _Her_. They were precious to him as wealth to others and Jim felt greed tickle at his consideration.  Jim left the blue liquor untouched and leveled his gaze at Benny’s. “When do we meet?”

 

Benny smiled, the expression slowly crossing his face. “Right now, if you don’t mind.”

 

Jim didn’t mind.

 

Benny had seen many men come and go through the Falcone security organization. When he hired he tended to find people that were loyal, malleable to the Falcone ideology, and above all professional. Victor Zsasz had been one such hire. Every organization needed a man that wasn’t afraid to dirty their hands, and Victor preferred it. He had a code of ethics that Don Falcone himself could manipulate to get the best out of Zsasz and did so. Yet Victor for all his talents could not handle the most priceless Falcone object in the Don’s possession: Sophia Falcone. His son Mario was everything the Don wished him to be, but Sophia was young; a free spirit and needed to come into her own as a woman and business partner. She still wanted to shop, go to dance clubs, date beautiful boys; and the occasional girl; and not have any responsibilities past what classes she was going to take in Gotham University. She was demanding, resourceful and had fired more body guards than Benny cared to tally. Always, always she gave them the slip and showed up to her father’s offices complaining that every one of the men was incompetent or too _this_ and not enough _that_.

 

This time however, Benny was almost positive he had found her match in Jim Gordon. Ultimately Sophia did not want a bodyguard but she knew her father would never allow her to be without one. Jim would be the compromise; the one to go the distance because Benny had studied enough of the failures to anticipate what strength of character was needed to best her. He had found those attributes in Jim. He surmised she would say nothing about him lacking, and he knew for a fact she had bet on him occasionally in the fighting cage matches. Whenever she went there he and Zsasz accompanied her. Falcone had already declared that she no longer could fire body guards at her leisure and that such things needed to be handled by the Don personally.

 

An hour after Benny had sat down at Jim’s table in the bar, he found himself inside the Falcone compound and had agreed to the job.  He would be provided with access to a credit account for his salary and bonuses. He was given a stipend to purchase a new wardrobe with that would be appropriate to his new station. He would be outfitted with new weaponry and have access to the compound gym and firing range. He was assigned living quarters in the security wing and allotted three meals a day in the communal kitchen if he didn’t wish to cook for himself in his own quarters. Even though Jim didn’t trust the parameters of the deal and what his duties were, he was smart enough to know that he was not going to find another job like it. He could save for some land; materials for his house; a future with someone beside him. For the first time in his life he didn’t have any obligations to anyone but himself, and Jim wanted to have more than what he had never had before in his life. He agreed to all the terms and signed the contract; military or civilian; it was good for him to have true purpose again.  What was even better in Jim’s mind, was that the compound and hot running water and Jim finally took a hot bath for the first time in his life.

 

Sophia Falcone had an entirely different slant on the situation. She raged and threw a tantrum about being saddled with another idiot baby sitter, regardless of how handsome he was. She set about immediately to seduce Jim to have him compromise a clause of his contract and not only be fired from employment but killed. Her plan failed when Jim politely declined her offer, although she had grabbed him and was groping him blatantly. He grabbed her wrist and stopped her and she slapped his face with the opposite hand. She cried to her father and Jim was concerned that he was going to be terminated when Benny entered the room and assured him that he would be accompanying Miss Falcone to Gotham University to sign up for classes in three days hence when he started work.

 

So much for temper tantrums and storms of young women crying to their fathers.

 

GOTHAM CITY: TWO DAYS LATER

Leather; it was protective and the newer brands breathed a hell-of-allot better than the tanning processes of old. The jacket was something he could have never afforded before, but it was luxurious and Jim enjoyed wearing it. He was able to do most of his shopping in the span of three shops and though he grimaced at the price he paid, he had not been taken advantage of. Sophia Falcone; his charge; informed him in no uncertain terms that he was to be impeccably groomed and dressed each minute he was in her presence.  Fortunately, Benny had provided him with a list of basics he would be needing including suits for each day, casual and formal wear both. Jim was forwarded credit funds for purchases and kept the cash for greasing palms when necessary. Gotham City was going to offer many opportunities for such practices. It was a City where compliments veiled true intentions, and direct threats were cause for whistle blowers to call in the “proper” authorities to deal with issues. Subtlety was key and Jim had little patience, or practice with subtle. For the interim it served him to keep his mouth shut and ears and eyes open. Acting as a sponge was the best learning technique. Keeping to the shadows drew suspicions, so standing in plain sight and just watching wasn’t a direct concern. People might know what he was doing, but they didn’t raise eyebrows over it.

 

Gotham City itself was laid out like a wheel from an antique cart. The Falcone compound was in the center, and the main thoroughfares stretched out like spokes from its epicenter. There were hundreds of smaller streets branching off, like ribbons threading the spokes in opposite directions. From each of those there were countless nooks, crannies and alleyways to navigate or find shelter in. Jim began a year ago constructing his own topography image in his mind’s eye, only now he was working to refine it. Gotham was a security concern in particular burrows, but the closer one moved to the compound itself, the tighter the bottle neck became. Side streets fell away to dead ends and control of comings and goings became defined in two points: One entry, one exit; complete lockdown eminent.

 

He began another mental list of names he heard repeated in various circles all over the city aside from Maroni and Cobblepot. Already familiar names were chief among them, but the rest were the chief power holders that were poised to offer their aid to the Falcone’s at a second’s notice. He also listened for the rollers under those names, who controlled and bankrolled everything that came into and left the city with any value placed on it. Follow the money. Harvey had told Jim to always employ that tactic and it proved invaluable every time. Know who controlled the money, and you knew who were the influential decision makers. While Carmine Falcone lorded over the controllers, Jim doubted those men did anything without seeking the Don’s approval. And if they didn’t, then Jim was damned certain they instantly spirited away and replaced by another who was recognized where loyalty must lie. Greed was always a factor, but Jim figured most of the snapping hounds were banished out of Gotham City and Central to the surrounding systems. There they could reign and be useful to the Falcone empire without posing a threat.

 

His third day of reconnaissance Jim indulged in a little bit of the charms Gotham City had to offer. Gentleman’s Clubs and Party destinations were all well and good, but for the moment they held zero interest for Jim. He would get laid when he damn well had a moment to spare; right now, there were far more vital issues to be attended too. Chiefly the metal mills and privately-owned forges. He narrowed his choice down to two Smithy’s within the port district that still practiced some of the timeless classic techniques. They did so for tourist interest, a novelty among a city full of artisans. Yet to Jim they were provided far more than mere entertainment and distraction; they provided an invaluable service. Bullets. She needed them to be used and Jim couldn’t deny Her these kisses of death. It would take him a little while to befriend the proprietors of the Smithy’s; but he had time.

 

In the meantime, the weapons Benny had provided him with were indeed, top grade. He had read about a newer model of blaster hitting the market that were smaller, more powerful, and who’s charges lasted longer than their preceding models. Didn’t it beat all that Benny had them before the military could get their grubby hands on them? Money had its advantages and Jim was beginning to appreciate the truth of the axiom. The knives he was provided were of equal quality. Blades so sharp he nicked himself several times just handling them to get a feel for their balance. One of the cuts was deep enough to require a couple of stitches. Jim should have known better than to handle such weapons when he was exhausted, but the geriatric Harriet; who ran the apartments the Falcone body guards were provided to live in; had been kind enough to sew the wound closed. She had done so in silence. Her expression had not changed then, when he complimented her on the house chef’s cooking, or thanked her for her care. Her cool reserve unnerved Jim somewhat, his experience with women quite different. She had said not a word, and bowed to Jim slightly before exiting the room, leaving him a bit confused.

 

Her exit prompted him to finally permit his head to hit the pillow. He would seek Benny out in the morning and check with him regarding what his next orders were.  His first instructions had been to familiarize himself with the compound, outfit himself with the appropriate wardrobe and report for duty forty-eight hours after arriving at the compound apartments. He would be meeting with Sophia in the morning after receiving a security briefing. For now, he hoped for dreamless sleep and tried to relax as much as possible and drift away.

 

SILENT SHAME

Sophia Falcone was attending Gotham University and that presented quite a challenge logistically for her security detail, and more importantly Jim. It didn’t take Jim long to go through the faculty list, the students and learn the layout of the campus. He paid the most attention to the areas that Benny advised him too, but he also made a study of the surrounding bits. Air ducts, tunnels, every point of entry in and out of grounds. Okay, so there was a security staff but they were hired by the University, not by Benny himself as Sophia’s personal bodyguards. Jim needed to know how to get Sophia in or out of every building, parking structure, public and private entrance should the need arise. So far, he was blessed that it hadn’t. He endured classes, the notice of students, and the occasional odd comment or flirtation.

 

He hoped he was responding appropriately, acknowledging those that deserved it and ignoring the rest. It certainly was a test upon his abilities to blend into the civilian populace, so he studied those around him, gauging their reactions and parroting them when he was in doubt. So far, so good. Not too many awkward social faux pas as Sophia was not forgiving. When Sophia wasn’t in class at the University and demanded her privacy, Jim still roamed Gotham’s main districts to not only continue improving his lay of the land but to also get to know those who needed to be known, and ferreting out perceptions about the rest. He didn’t approach the elite leaderships, no, he merely observed. You learned more by shutting your mouth and keeping your eyes and ears open then you did chatting up locals and receiving misinformation. Harvey; Jim knew that he would have disagreed and used his personable charm to obtain accurate information. People liked Harvey and trusted him immediately. Jim did not have that skill set and was tolerated by others at best, reviled at worst.

 

Sophia’s current personal security worried him. He was not meant to be known to them as an employee and his stomach did not sit right with the fact that person, or person’s yet exposed were bartering the security of Sophia for their own gain. Truth be told Benny was his only connection in Gotham, as well as being his Commanding Officer, but beyond that the guy was kind of charming and he understood what Jim was about. He would not have assigned Jim the job of protecting the Don’s daughter if he didn’t think him capable of the duty.  Benny didn’t pressure him, he had in fact been quite generous in his time, finances and quartering for Jim. The fact that he owed Benny a debt of gratitude for his life did not escape him either. He was bound and determined to make good on the debt in any way possible, and if that meant playing detective and exposing the weak links in the security armor Benny might not otherwise be aware of, then so be it.

 

Jim was finished fighting Wars started by governments, but he was far from finished being a soldier. Whatever intentions the gods had for him at his birth, his life had shaped him into a warrior and truthfully, he would be lost if he couldn’t fight. For the first two weeks his existence had consisted of learning everything he could to do his job well, and he was feeling a little fatigued. He was itching to take Her out to the country side and shoot some targets. Jovens had granted him access to the forge and he had been able to stock pile enough 50 caliber bullets to last him a little while. He sometimes found Her drifting into his thoughts before he went to sleep, his fingers miming loading the chamber, running his fingers over Harvey’s dog tags, and the occasional trigger squeeze. For the moment he could endure the wait, but until Benny thought it fitting to release him for a few hours from Sophia duty, he wasn’t going to ask for any time off.

 

As the days wore on Harriet revealed herself to be an enigma. She had never spoken to him, but he was extremely civil when he asked her for things he needed, and always said please and thank you when she served him. He was hired help himself, and though her position trumped his, at he was respectful of her. Fucking with the mistress of the house would be inviting trouble and Jim was trying to keep away from battles he created with his own ignorance at any cost. It bothered him how subservient she seemed, and when she frowned it flared his memory of Harvey. That ache had not faded, and in fact some moments when he had a moment to reminisce, the memories tore him to the bone. He spoke of Harvey to no one, and endured the hurt the best he was able.

 

Jim had yet to find a woman to entertain him for the evening. Another activity he didn’t feel comfortable seeking out just yet. If his baser needs rose, he knew a few quick pulls in the shower, or before bed would suffice. For the moment the most exciting new ‘ _lover’_ he would even dare pursue was a heated bath. That bliss didn’t originate from between a woman or man’s legs, and it was a hell of allot less trouble to dismiss after the deed was completed. He did wish that Harvey could have experienced the utter transcendence of true cleanliness before his death, but that dream was merely a fantasy now. Seeing Harvey pink, wrinkled, and sated would have been worth every bath he had indulged in since the first.

 

His throat closed a little when he thought about Harvey, even a fleeting image or emotion brushing past. He was a weakness Jim needed to expunge before he began interfering with his ability to do his job. What if he had to shoot someone that reminded him of Bullock? That was a viable concern and he needed to nip that in the bud before it became a professional issue. Currently Harvey drifted to his thoughts because his thumb ran over the raised letters in the dog tags he had mounted in his Remington. He had Her out and was cleaning Her, making certain none of Her parts needed maintenance just yet. The desire to head off into the wild lands and fire off a few rounds rose in his blood, just as his emotions for Harvey Bullock rose in his heart.

 

Harvey deserved far better than the death he got. He should have been with Harvey. He should have saved Bullock instead of the Marines he managed to band together and lead from danger. Harvey should have been his primary concern and not protocol and instinct. If he had placed Harvey first, perhaps he would be alive today. It hurt to contemplate it, but the motions of cleaning his Sniper’s rifle were automatic, he didn’t need to concentrate on them, he was led by instinct. Harvey- was something far more profound than practiced mechanics. And he was somewhere Jim couldn’t get too just yet.

 

Someday, just not today.

 

This thought made Jim feel morose, but there was little he could do now to stem the flow. He didn’t have a tourniquet capable of being emotionally applied. So, he thought about Harvey, allowed the tears to prick his gaze, and tried to remember if he had closed the door to his room or not. Wiping away a renegade tear with the back of his wrist, he sniffed and couldn’t even bother to look up and confirm if his shame could be witnessed or not. What did it matter? Benny and Harriet were the only ones that ever came to his quarters, Benny was elsewhere and Harriet had no reason to check on Jim.

 

Jim wondered if Harvey made it to Heaven or not. He was one tough bastard who deserved so much better than the death he had. And someday, Jim hoped to see him again.

 

Later when his tears had dried his thoughts wandered from work, to his life, and back again. No matter how proficient of a teacher Sophia had, Jim figured out relatively early on that she was a student of life, and better at being self-taught then in a classroom setting. He enjoyed access to the University library as well as Benny’s private one at his home, but the day in and day out of University classes left allot to be desired. When he wasn’t tailing Sophia’s every move on campus and making painful small talk with everyone he encountered there, he was shoring up his intelligence gathering and committing to memory that which would keep Sophia, and more importantly himself, alive and well in the City of Gotham.

 

He had met more than a few interesting characters since his inception as Benny’s secret employee. Maroni was one to watch, but Jim’s real interest lay in the opportunity to see the smarmy Oswald Cobblepot for himself. Benny had a never-ending wealth of warnings where those two individuals were concerned and Jim had to admit a healthy respect existed for them in his mind already. Which, according to his employer, was the wisest course indeed. Throughout the procuring of all his introductions, casual and cautious all, he still did not know quite what to make of Harriet. He had barely heard her utter three words since he had known her, and her subservient, yet domestic tyranny was a paradox to him. He knew she was observing him just as closely as he was watching her, and that was in no small part to Benny’s orders. He needed to be able to trust Jim, and what better way than through the woman who cooked Jim’s meals and made certain he had clean underwear? She could kill him easier than anyone at this juncture in Jim’s life- so he kept his polite distance, but was leery of her just the same.

 

Harriet was certainly adept at dressing his minor wounds of nicks from the knives he trained with and burns on his forearms and fingers from forging bullets for his sniper rifle. Whatever Benny thought of him, or Harriet, they couldn’t accuse him of shirking his duties. He had been on 24/7 since setting his boots down on the planet, only placing them aside when he was ordered too. Benny had allowed him the afternoon off and he was taking full advantage of it, shooting some targets he had set up, in one those deserted areas Benny had been kind enough to tell him about. He preferred a natural setting to an indoor firing range. Only when he used Her though. With smaller firearms the range was more than acceptable, but with Her it was necessary for him to tap into the stillness, the connection between himself and the weapon. He couldn’t duplicate that in a firing range, nor did he wish too. She rewarded his respect with exploding the targets dead center every time he depressed the trigger.

She was a salve to his soul. He had needed the mercy of suspended thoughts, inert body, and silent spirit. It had been so long since he had indulged himself and he had no doubts that this little diversion would enable him to serve Benny’s needs better. Relaxed and refreshed, Jim headed back towards the city proper, and Securities private residence. After storing Her back in his room, he showered, changed and decided to head to the forge and make some bullets.

 

INTO THE FIRE

Location: SMITHY FORGE- 2.3 KILOMETERS FROM RESIDENCE:

Benny had instructed him to keep an eye on Sofia- but the woman had other ideas about whom should be placing tabs on her and whom should not. Jim was in the ‘not’ category by proxy. The evening’s festivities for him were not far from the front arch of the Smithy entrance and therefore Jim was not truly shirking his duties. This was a ball in celebration of Cobblepot’s right hand man Edward Nygma’s, engagement.  Jim’s new Commanding Officer, Benny was in attendance and Jim was quite grateful that his instructions had been otherwise. Formal gala’s or even impromptu parties were not his preference.

 

The heat of the furnace felt like it was melting his skin, when he stood too close to the forge. It burned in a way that made his cells crawl to life, perspiration falling in rain storms down his chest, back, arms, throat and face. The salt stung his yes but he banished the pain; ignoring all but his task at hand. Crafting bullets was an art, and Gordon had endured many burns and failures to become a master. There was a symmetry to it; a respect that each fashioned capsule would end a life. There would be no missing; the materials too scarce and vital to waste. He was a craftsman and his ultimate creation was death.  When he was hyper focused like this; still; the memories came to him in a never-ending ribbon of images and emotions. He did nothing to stop them; nor cast any amount of control on them. In these seconds they helped to shape the bullets and become ingrained personal touches on each and every unique harbinger of death. Harvey Bullock’s face warmed his introverted stare. His face smeared in sweat and black smoke, his blue gaze burning nearly black, the fires of his own heart blazing out from behind his eyes. Jim was alive, his body attuned with his own as he created the safety net that allowed him to reap the most souls.

 

She understood. She did not judge. She contributed to the body count and Harvey was there with silent comfort when the ghosts appropriated their vengeance. Bullock was beautiful in his way; pale skin, red hair, green eyes. Harvey’s smile was white, his lips inviting, and his body:  Jim tried not to think about the solidness of his build, the way his ass looked in uniform, inviting. Harvey’s shoulders were broad, his hands large and warm, and another area Jim tried not to contemplate.  There were times when Harvey was ungraded; in an undershirt and regulation boxers; dog tags and- The image petered out there for an instant.

 

Bullock’s dog tags. Jim wiped the sweat from his brow with a slick forearm and cast a glance over his left shoulder. They upon a table meters away. Steadfast; silent; the metal of the dog tag at the trigger box a lighter color than the rest of Her construction. There had been blood, scorched earth; burned bodies and anyone of them could have been Harvey’s. At least a part of him was with Jim; the only part he touched freely and never worried about. Jim turned his eyes away from the Sniper Rifle and back to his task of pouring the liquid, molten metal into the molds. His memory fluttered back to a time he had been wounded, his chest body armor blown open, to reveal the vulnerable flesh and bone beneath it.  Harvey had been there in an instant determined to save him.

 

Jim had gone down like a rock, his back impacting hard enough with the ground to knock the breath right out of his lungs. The pain erupted through him like a blazing wildfire, spreading through every millimeter of his system. Blood filled his throat and he tried to breathe, but couldn’t. His lungs would not inflate, and he gasped, blood metallic and tangy upon his palate. Panic flickered across Jim’s blue eyes; how could this have happened? He was hit? No. It was impossible. Then Harvey was on his knees over him, Jim watched his left-hand reach for Harvey, blood on the fingers, shards of bone poking out of the top of his hand. It was like watching a stranger reach out to his best friend, the limb not his own but someone else’s. He felt the metal in his palm, somehow warm and cold at the same instant. The raised engraving of Harvey’s dog tags comforting, the bumps and caverns reassuring Jim that he was feeling Harvey beside him.

 

The blade of his knife flashed, Harvey’s lips near his forehead, and then the rush of oxygen so bittersweet in its burn, Jim’s back arched up from the ground as he inhaled. Bullock’s bloodied knife went back into his boot, and Harvey’s hands were on Jim’s face. His voice, gravelly, a strong voice, not sultry and nurturing, but real and demanding. “Look at me!” Jim’s eyes focused on Harvey’s face orbiting above his own, he saw no fear there; only the older male’s determination and anger. His fingers were wound in the chain of Harvey’s tags, and he prevented Harvey from rising above him and moving away. Jim felt one of Harvey’s hands close around his own, bone compressed but he didn’t react to the pain.

 

Jim was afraid. “We’re moving you.” Bullock said above the noise of the battle around them. He wasn’t going to lose Jim just to stay and stand his ground with the others. This was their battle, now that Gordon was hurt Bullock’s only mission was to get him to the medics. He would have physically carried Jim himself if his injuries hadn’t been so severe and he couldn’t fireman carry him. He tagged another Marine to aid, and they created a make shift stretcher from their flack armor and uniformed shirts. It was a tried and true method and together they carried Jim to safety. It wasn’t abandonment of their posts as far as the pair of them were concerned, and Jim was forever grateful at how they had saved his life. It was nothing less he would have done for either of them; for any fellow Marine. Yet for the first time since he was sixteen years old he had been afraid in battle. Not of the war itself, but of dying.

 

Harvey had shouted orders at people several times his rank to get them perform their jobs to his satisfaction. Jim was more than just **any** solider; he was an invaluable commodity: a rare killer with the ability to take a life from a close, or great distance. Life after life taken and Harvey would not permit his skills to be lost by a mere chest wound. Jim didn’t die; he healed; and Bullock was by his side for every second he remained vulnerable to infection or death. Jim could rest because Harvey had his back and no one, was going to enter his room without Bullock’s say. Jim never slept more soundly than he did with Harvey near him. He was alert for danger; certainly; the behavior was ingrained; but with Harvey close by there was a lowering in his defenses. One that felt natural and relaxed him.

 

The memories evaporated as quickly as they manifested and Jim accepted them. Each one a part of the bullets he forged. Each crafted and created as much a part of him as the memory that rest within it. If this process made his aim any truer, or the ammunition more stable, was irrelevant. The victim would not have time to appreciate the blood, sweat, and emotions that Jim poured into every one of his life takers. The art was not for them to behold; it was for them to be destroyed by. Bullock though; he would have certainly appreciated the beauty of the craftsmanship. He was a part of it. He was a part of Jim. Even in his death, he could not let Harvey be forgotten. How could he? If their places were reversed he knew damned well Harvey would never forget him.

 

Not even for an instant.

 

SLAVE NO MORE

Harvey Bullock had a problem with authority figures. From the time he was a little in New York and well into his adulthood, when he took exception with an authoritarian figure he did so to the inth degree. Being in the USMC had done little to discourage that behavior, beyond waiting until the jackass superior officer’s back was turned from his to begin a diatribe against their ineptitude. There had been very few authoritative figures in his life that had proved themselves worthy of his implicit trust; superiors that he would follow blindly through hell and back just because they asked or ordered, and even fewer still he had sincere respect and affection for. The last had been Master Gunnery Sergeant Jim Gordon. He had become a second skin to Harvey, a reflex that he fell into line beside at a mere glance. Jim didn’t need to ask or order; Harvey was there and ready to carry out whatever mission he lay before him. Anything from a simple run for more alcohol for the barracks, to a suicide mission that had no chance in hell of succeeding. Jim had earned his respect and trust since the instant they had been thrown together in battle; a happy accident he never once questioned or took for granted.

 

The days of trust, of security, of brethren on USMC Base# 11 were long past now. Four years dead and Harvey was only looking to resurrect one thing, and that was himself; his dignity; his usefulness as a soldier. After the slaughter at Base #11, he and a few hundred prisoners were taken to some humanoid species planet, healed of their wounds then prepared for sale as slaves. The market was full of species of beings Harvey had never dreamed off, let alone thought could ever exist. The bulk of them were sold to a single master and funneled into a transport to be shipped to some moon a couple galaxies away. There they became manual labor for a tillium mine. The conglomerate company which owned the mine and his services was a familiar one: Falcone Inter Galactic. Falcone IG had humble beginnings on Earth and now it enslaved his and other unfortunates without forethought of anything but a profit. At the mine absolute rule was enforced by his slave masters which left Harvey in a constant state of agony. He’d lost teeth, he’d gained scars, he’d nearly died numerous times from fevers and blood poisoning from his wounds. However, he was still alive, still had his tongue in his mouth, his brain in his head and he would be damned if he went down before a faceless conglomerate broke him.

 

His first blessing manifested when he was unceremoniously sold in a card game between mine security and Garbage Runner on lay over. Five excruciating months after arriving at the mines, Harvey was being smuggled off the mining property in a damaged chemical toilet amongst metric tons of garbage. It was clear to Harvey that he would have died at the mining facility; hacked away at piece by piece until he could no longer work. While the bucking of authority transferred from mining security to the refuse transporter, the beatings were a lot more tolerable and far less brutal. However, while he gained advantage there, his new master seemed far too inclined to demand that he be allowed diddle the purchased help. Nor was he above smacking someone with a smart mouth or threatening to cut out their tongue. Harvey learned to dodge his advances, endure his groping and while his owner didn’t understand Gaelic nor care too, Harvey’s clearly disdainful tone alluded his notice as well. Finally master and servant reached an understanding on all matters sexual and non; to which Harvey was rewarded by finding himself a secure job in his new master’s repair depot.  Harvey spent the next three years observing, waiting, and stock piling a means for escape. Continually bolstering his confidence that once he blew that weigh station he was on his way to Gotham Central A port to find Jim. If anything had kept his going these past few years it had been the knowledge, hope; desperate belief; that he was waiting for him to come home, or that he had launched a search of his own to find Harvey. Regardless, he was finished being a slave and knew it was high time he become his own master once more. Now he had to break it to his ‘boss’ in the gentlest way possible. Which; Harvey had to admit; a single blaster beam through the left nostril was about as gentle as he could be, all things considered.

 

After his boss’ death it was a matter of paying the right smuggler the right amount for a ride out of the system. Finding a pilot willing to take him, was no trouble in the least. As for the slave collar about his neck, well that had been easy to disassemble without tripping the explosive “tamper” proof mechanism. He had disabled that little devise the first week he had worn the damned thing; his benefactors seriously underestimated his skill set. All his background came in handy when he arrived at Gotham Central, Space Port Beta; the furthest the piolet would take him; where anonymity was his best friend. He could get a foot in the door, get his basic needs met, procure some new clothes, new weapons and begin his search for transport back to Port Alpha in earnest. Jim was there; or somewhere; and he was going to find him. His recurring prayer was that he was still alive.

 

THE SOLIDER

Harvey had never told Jim about the photograph. Image media came and went, but sometimes a person got lucky and found a format that would last. It had been a whim; a drunken one at that; but a friend of a comrade of another platoon had a cousin, who’s brother-in-law’s, sister’s, uncle knew a guy in possession of a camera. It was an antique, digital imagery was out dated technology; but Bullock and Gordon had been at the right place at the most fortuitous time, and the image had been captured. Jim had forgotten about the incident almost seconds after it’s passing, but Bullock had remembered. He had dogged that friend of a comrade of another platoon’s, cousin, who’s brother-in-law’s, sister’s, uncle, who knew that guy and finessed him into giving him a print out before the image disappeared into the ether.

 

More than a memento, the thing was a damned triumph. He had kept it through the battle that left him a slave, he had harbored and hid it through the time he worked the tillium mine, and his sale to the garbage collector. He had kept it a secret, a talisman and coveted little glimpse into a former life. Harvey and Jim, one arm slung around each other’s shoulders, Jim’s head tilted towards his throat. Jim was smiling, and Harvey too. His dog tags long gone, he wore the image close to his heart, in a small cylinder, centuries before known as “secret keepers”. Legend told that wearing a scrap of paper with a desire or wish close to the heart would bring fortune to the wearer. At this point in his life, Harvey was willing to give any dogma a try. The image was creased having been rolled up to fit in the cylinder, but Jim’s image was protected by the sacrificing of his own. What he looked like didn’t matter; what mattered was Jim’s face. Harvey didn’t want to forget him; ever.

 

Gotham Central Port Beta was nothing short of a shithole, and Harvey realized that if he wanted to find an asking price for passage to Alpha port within any means; let alone his own; he needed to search for a pilot. It took a few weeks, but he traveled from one port to the next. Alpha lived up to its name and reputation both, but to Harvey it was no different from the port he had left behind, the weigh station garage or the tillium mine. He didn’t plan on residing in port long past what time it would take his to procure living expences. Then the real hunt would begin; or so he thought. The first mummers nearly slipped by his; two drunkards reminiscing about wagers won and lost in a local fight club. Their conversation was less elating than the one to the other side of his about the alien woman with six breasts the size of blast helmets. Inane as both topics were at least the men to his left were talking about hand to hand combat, and that was something Harvey could get behind.

 

He only half listened, his gaze shifting around the bar, the ice blond bartender seeming somewhat off; but just how Bullock couldn’t quite place. Then one of the men said something that made his ears prick up; _The Solider_. One of the men began talking about a fighter that had gone as quickly as he had arrived, but he had been something of a betting man’s enigma. At first you didn’t want to bet on him, because he was a new face; new meat; and he was fighting things twice his height and mass. But then the son of a bitch went and won; nothing gets the blood up like seeing money to be made. So, the bets started flying for and against the Solider but fucking hell if that son of a bitch didn’t win every bout. He was no performer, just a military trained fighter; shoulder to the grind stone, stand to the end.  The Solider; they could have been talking about anyone, but something tingled in the back of Bullock’s intuition and he turned to the men, more interested in their conversation then perhaps was safe to be; but hope was a commodity Bullock was short on and he clung to any whisper he could find. “This Solider have a name?”

 

“Digger knows.” One of the men replied. Digger turned out to be the hulking ton of Alien species that Harvey prayed he would never have to fight against in his days. He looked like a humanoid pustule that if pricked would spew rank liquid all over its foe. Luckily Digger had a damned good memory and kept even better books, because he was the money guy for the club The Solider fought at. For a fee he was willing to tell Harvey what he wanted to know. His heart leaped into his throat at the gruff mumbling of Digger’s response.

 

“Jim. Just Jim. I liked Solider better.”

 

Bullock didn’t bother to disagree, Digger could like whatever the fuck title he wanted too. As for him, he had to take a minute to breathe; his right hand going instinctively to the secret keeper around his throat, as he dared asked the follow up question.

 

“What happened to him? The Solider?”

 

Digger shrugged, the mammoth movement crushing Harvey’s heart in the wake. “Better money on others now. You wanna bet?”

 

Harvey declined, biting back the last question of, “how long ago did he disappear”? Digger was done talking if Bullock wasn’t putting up any more money. Jim had been here; Alpha Space Port; just like he said he was going to go back on Earth. As happy as Harvey was to hear about their paths nearly crossing, he realized he now had no place else to look. Perhaps someone in the armpit of a space hub knew more; the question remained how to find them and loosen their tongue. And Harvey Bullock was adept at charming people.

 

MAKING FRIENDS

The Kell-78X259 series android had been created and specifically designed to function as scientific research lab assistant. The people of LeStrallion valued science, curiosity, exploration, discovery, ingenuity and engineering above all other core values. Orbiting a galaxy, several million light years from the Milky way made it a not an Earth government federated planet. However, Earth’s remaining military force would have well appreciated the genius of the LeStrallian people and the trail blazing peripheral of that society that had adapted the Kell series for limited military assistance in the handling and disarming of highly explosive weaponry. They modified the internal systems to be reliable and easily programmed to carry out Its directives to exact degrees without deviation. The Kell series also possessed several fail-safe security functions in Its programming to prevent It from being used for ill, nor was It placed widely into production past use in a laboratory environment.

 

While the LeStrallian people had never intended the Kell Series Android to exist beyond boarders of their own planet, a few models had been smuggled off world. One such Android currently resided in Gotham Central, at the Alpha Space Port. The owner of the appropriated property simply titled It as ‘Kell’ if he referred to It at all. The primary task currently in Kell’s programming was to load and unload merchandise from Its owner’s ship. The smuggler liked to drink, bet in fight clubs and frequent the better whore houses of the port when he wasn’t obtaining goods and making runs for various benefactors. During Its owner’s absence Kell remained at the docking hanger, doing rudimentary maintenance on some of the less functional merchandise, and awaited Its owner’s return. Kell watched people, listened to conversations around It but never interacted with the organic life unless It was specifically addressed.

 

Had Kell possessed artificial intuition It would have known the instant It’s gray-blue circuit run iris’ rested upon Harvey that he was going to approach him. Kell didn’t access Bullock as either a threat, or non-threat; because its programming wasn’t relegated to such differentiations. Harvey had visually scanned the hanger, prioritized his subjects for questioning and made straight for Kell. He had come to the hanger before, and he had seen Kell unloading property. He hadn’t talked to It previously, but he was intent upon questioning It now.

 

“Hey, you!” Harvey stopped in front of the unit; both hands upon the holsters of his side arms. “Gotta name?”

 

The Kell Android halted in Its task of soddering a few circuits together on a motherboard and moved from around the work table, giving Harvey It’s complete attention. He took a step back at Its movements, one hand before his to stop Its further advance, the other on his gun belt. “You don’t gotta get up in my face, stand down, or I’ll blow a nice hole between your eyes, a thuiscint?”

 

Kell blinked and continued to look at Harvey, yet It halted in all advancement. “What is ‘a thuiscint’?”

 

The question sounded innocent enough, but the intoning of the inflection was off. Had this man been victim of a head wound? Or was he a mere simpleton? Harvey didn’t raise his hand from his weapons belt, and the other dropped to his opposite side arm. He nodded at Kell, observing him closely. “It’s Gaelic. It means, ‘understand’.”

 

“Yes. I understand.” The Android paused, keeping steady eye contact with Harvey. “I am called Kell. I am a Kell-78X259 series android and originate from LeStrallion. I do not possess the coordinates of LeStrallion, yet the parameters of Kell-78X259 include- “

 

“Yeah, I get it.” Harvey interrupted holding up a hand to emphasize. “You’re a droid. A synthetic, replica- a whatever-the-fuck your masters call you. You’re not flesh and bone like me. So, will you lie to me if I ask you some questions about this hanger? What you see here?”

 

“Kell-78X259 Androids are incapable of deception.”

 

Unimpressed; and not wholly convinced; Harvey rolled his gaze and gave the interior of the hanger another survey before walking over to the work table. The Kell stood Its ground and he ran the fingertips of his left hand along the surface of the table, surreptitiously spotting a few open and empty containers that would shield them from view. He motioned to the Kell.

 

“Over here.” It took a few seconds for the Android to join him, but once they were shielded from immediate view Harvey relaxed his demeanor slightly. “You spend allot of time in this hanger? Watching people come and go; ships landing and taking off; filing frequency of coming and goings?”

 

“Kell-78X259 are capable of calculating a wide variety of statistical analysis- “

 

“That would be a ‘yes’. I don’t need to hear your list of functions every time you answer my questions, okay? I want facts, I want concise responses, can you do that?”

 

“Affirmative.” Kell responded with a slight nod of Its head.

 

Harvey wet his lips and reached to his neck and pulled the secret keeper out of his shirt. He opened it and withdrew the rolled image and carefully, with great affection and ceremony unfurled the image and held it up for the Android to view. “You ever see this man, at this hanger, or anywhere else in this fucking-cesspool of a port?”

 

The Kell leaned forward and gave the photo a cursory analysis. “The object is of unknown origin, and indeterminate composition.” The Kell reached out with a hand and stopped when Harvey jerked the photograph back to his chest, his opposite hand un-holstering a side arm. He pressed the muzzle of the blaster to the Kell’s forehead.

 

“I didn’t ask for a fucking analysis, I asked you if you’ve _seen_ him before.” Each word was spaced by anger, his teeth clenched and tone menacing. While the Kell was not capable of fear, It understood the not so subtle display of emotion by Harvey.

 

The Android straightened once more before responding. “Yes.”

 

Harvey’s left eye twitched slightly and he repositioned his hold of the blaster. “Yes, you’ve seen him, or ‘yes’ you understand what I said?”

 

“Both.”

 

Harvey pulled the muzzle away from the Android’s forehead and holstered it. The unit wasn’t being glib, It was merely following his defined parameters of factual and succinct. Harvey felt his heartbeat ramp up a several beats at the implications of the Android’s confirmation. “You’ve seen him where?”

 

“Here.” The Kell responded. “Hanger bay 17-Alpha-Quadrant-4-Sector-G.”

 

Harvey carefully rolled up the photographed image and secured it back in the secret keeper, placing the accessory beneath his shirt once more. This accomplished he trusted himself to speak once more. “When?”

 

“12 nights past.”

 

If the Kell had been human or capable of passionate affection Harvey would have kissed him senseless. “What did you see him doing?”

 

“Boarding a Gotham City class A-“

 

“Gotham _City_?” Harvey interrupted, his mind instantly latching onto the common mention of the planet and its ruling class. “Do you know where the ship was specifically headed?”

 

“No.”

 

Harvey felt like shooting the Kell Android then; his impatience narrowing his gaze in a glare, anger seething from his tone. “The pilot- did you see him?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Harvey’s left eye twitched. “Do you know who the pilot is by name?”

 

“No.”

 

“But if you saw him again, you would know him, yes?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Harvey’s frown transformed into a predatory smile. “Well Kell-whatever-the-fuck you’ve just become my new best friend. A thuiscint?

 

“No.”

 

Oh, It would soon enough.

 

FINANCIAL PLAGUE

Harvey needed more money. He had enough to pay for passage to Gotham City courtesy of the Kell Units’ current master. But beyond that? He was broke, and that left his in a vulnerable situation. His skill set could put his in potentially dangerous situations; fight clubs and mercenary work. The truth was the only way to make money fast were down those avenues. Prostitution was something that had been forced upon Harvey when he was enslaved. His choice? Well, it had been four years ago he had last dropped his pants for someone he actually desired. A woman selling her body in Port A was so common place that prices were comparable no matter how desperate a woman or pimp was for cash flow, men? Not so much a rare commodity either.

 

Harvey wasn’t stupid. He needed money to walk the streets of Gotham City in search of Jim. He needed bribery fees to even walk off the ship; he didn’t have the correct documents for any planet let alone one he’d never have contemplated going to in his life. But hell- Jim was worth it. He was the last Marine he could implicitly follow or lead. Until he found him his story wasn’t allowed to restart and the last four years to be expunged from his pained memory. Harvey had no idea what he would do after- after had forever been a source of mystery to him. He lived in the now; one second to the next; one battle before the other; one secret look exchanged with Jim Gordon before the laughter. “After” was of little consequence; he could figure that out once he had found Jim.

 

The interior of the bar wasn’t that busy; not just yet; and that was precisely why Harvey had chosen it to grab a quick meal. The Smuggler; by the unfortunate name of Proge; had sent his Kell Unit along with him. Harvey believed it was to keep an eye on his purse; to bring back any useful information that It’s master could use to exploit or cheat him. Men like Proge were the same no matter what world you lived in. However, what neither Harvey nor Proge realized was that the Kell unit preferred Bullock’s company to that of Its master. With him, It was exposed to learning opportunities. It was intrigued by the unknown “Gaelic” Harvey spoke, and It wanted to analyze the contents of the secret keeper.

 

The Kell Unit sat at his corner room table, It’s back to the other patrons of the bar and watched Harvey eat from a bowl. It was some local fare; some sort of soup that Harvey could stomach, and which didn’t taste half bad. There was bread, and a mug of ale. Not the most glamorous dinner in the world, but Harvey was more interested in fueling his body than gourmet taste. He sipped from the spoon side, nearly noiselessly, hunkered over his bowl like a recent released convict. His glare raised and settled on the Kell Unit.

 

“You gonna stare at me the whole time I’m eating?”

 

The Kell Unit had learned the type of responses Harvey expected from It and It didn’t disappoint. “Affirmative.”

 

Harvey sat up and swallowed the mouth full of soup, his glare settled upon the android across the small table from his. “Never seen a man eat?”

 

“Numerous times.”

 

“Then what’s so fucking _interesting_ about how **I** eat?”

 

The Kell stared back at him, and Harvey found it a little unnerving that the android had no need of blinking, yet It’s eyes appeared moist. “Kell-78X259 would benefit from explanation of this ‘Gaelic, you spoke of.”

 

Harvey’s lips pursed, his cheeks hallowing slightly in bitter furry. “If I tell you about Gaelic, will you tell me what it is your master sent you to learn from me?”

 

“Proge wants the location of your credits, or items of comparable value.”

 

Harvey shook his head and reminded himself that the android wasn’t stupid, It was just- _not_ human. He was about to speak when he heard the coughing. An elderly man had entered the bar, coughing behind a hand, wiping his mouth with a soiled piece of cloth before motioning to the bartender. Harvey knew from vast experience that such a wet, deep cough was symptomatic of a man’s last minutes alive. He watched as the man, holding a small bowl took a seat at the table to Harvey’s right. There were many empty tables he could have chosen, but he was sat nearly beside him.

 

The old man nodded at the Kell Unit before glancing at Harvey. He looked as if he was about to speak but instead he hunched over the bowl and coughed violently into the rag balled up in his right hand. Harvey spoke loudly to be heard over his fit of coughing.

 

“I’m trying to eat, not catch a plague. Why didn’t you sit somewhere else old man?”

 

It took several seconds for the man to stop coughing. His eyes looked excessively moist beneath the dim lighting in the bar, and he wiped his mouth, the rag disappearing into his cuff. “I wish to sit near to my friend.” He motioned to the Kell Unit. The Unit stared at the old man, It’s features impassive as ever, no emotion visible for the machine possessed none. Harvey looked from It to the old man.

 

“This is a droid; a replica; no one’s ‘friend’.”

 

The old man picked up his bowl, took a sip from the rim, nodded and placed the bowl back down upon the table. He looked at Harvey holding up a finger in disagreement. “That is where you are wrong my son. This Kell Unit is more than a mere ‘droid’. It is a fountain of knowledge, of learning; of science and discovery. It is every living organism’s ally for that very reason.” The old man lowered his finger and smiled at Harvey. “You would do well to pay It more respect than you have my child. This replica may well save your life one day.”

 

Unimpressed, Bullock’s gaze narrowed at the man. “Thank you for sharing that. Now I’m just gonna eat my meal in peace.”

 

The man’s hands shook as he raised the bowl once more to wet his lips and swallowed a little of the hot liquid inside of it. “The ‘disease’ I carry is no plague; nor contagious.” He looked at Harvey his dark eyes seeming abruptly fuller of life than he had previously noted. “I am a messenger, nothing more, my son.”

 

Harvey felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, heat coming to his cheeks and one of his hands instinctively went to the holster of one of his blasters. The intensity of this old man’s gaze was disconcerting and in spite of himself, Harvey broke eye contact and turned back to his meal, one hand firmly around a weapon, knuckles white. The Kell Unit; in contrast; was observing the old man; information spooling through It’s circuit boards. The old man had not lied when he had informed Harvey that he knew the Kell Unit and considered It a friend. The old man had not deceived him, nor did he intend to. He merely reached for his broth, and drank from the bowl once more.

 

ANCHORS AWAY

Nedel was the old man’s name, Harvey learned that much in between his coughing fits and the drinking of his broth. He traveled the universe looking for the roots of a civilization he swore existed but Harvey had never heard of, let alone could be tasked to remember the title of. To tell the truth, he was about as interested in Nedel’s life as he was anyone else’s in the universe, past Jim’s. He gauged that Nedel was talking to his to be polite, or make some point only he cared about, but when at long last the topic of conversation turned to money Bullock’s ears prickled. Nedel was quite interested in seeing the Falcone compound and in learning that Harvey was headed to Gotham City he invited himself along. At a price naturally, which suited Harvey Bullock just fine.

 

The credits he offered, and displayed to Harvey under the table, were real and enough to cover the expenses Harvey couldn’t. The agreement was to leave in two days, it would take Harvey that long to procure transportation, and Nedel wanted to visit the Kell unit and his ‘owner’. Nedel was a strange old coot, but money was money, and if their arrangement was a coincidence or true divine blessing, he didn’t care to contemplate. Sometimes an opportunity was simply that, and at the moment Harvey couldn’t afford to overlook his abrupt fortune. He needed the money and all his avenues of earning it would put his father behind in his journey to Gotham City. Time was not on his side where Jim was concerned. What if he left Gotham City while Harvey toiled away to earn desperately needed credits? He was prepared to follow Jim across Space and Time to it’s very edges and beyond if necessary, but just one little ray of hope to sustain his was in order. Beggars couldn’t be choosers and the agreement was reached, witnessed by the expressionless Kell unit and Harvey left the droid and the dying old man to their evening. Harvey wanted to find a cheap room and bed for the night.

 

Two days later the Kell unit had tracked him down in the middle of a negotiation that was going badly. Apparently if Harvey wanted transport to Gotham City that was fine and dandy. Throw in an old, disease ridden man and the deal was off. Bullock could lie his ass off but the whole of Gotham Central were pros and his inability to best them smarted. He was in an increasingly worsening mood when the Kell Unit approached him, Nedel was waiting and it was time to leave.

 

“We ain’t going **anywhere** if I can’t get a ship to agree to take us off this fucking rock, a thuiscint?” He all but shouted at the Kell unit when it’s presence signified to the pilot that their discussion was at an end and he left his standing alone with the damned droid.

 

“Yes, I understand.” The Kell said in its annoyingly calm and emotionless voice. Harvey would have punched him had his next words not appeased his temper a little. “Nedel has secured passage to Gotham City.”

 

Harvey’s jaw set and his arms crossed in defiant challenge. “Has he now? And I suppose I’m supposed to come scampering after you to the hanger then? Huh?”

 

The Kell stared at his processing his response, before speaking in the old man’s recorded voice. “Commandant Bullock,” The Kell unit paused editing out the coughing fit Harvey just knew had followed the greeting. “If you would please follow this Kell unit to Hanger bay 17-Alpha-Quadrant, we can commence on our journey to the delights of Gotham City and begin our new adventures. Please hurry, as time is of the essence. Thank you my, child. Thank you greatly.”

 

The Kell unit closed its mouth and Bullock rolled his eyes. Taking a visible breath, he unlocked his arms and motioned for the Kell unit to lead on. They moved quickly enough, the hanger Harvey happened to be at was not a great distance from that in the Alpha Quadrant. The location was where he had met the Kell unit to begin with and where his master, Proge docked his ship. If he was the pilot that Nedel had hired he was going to have to bite his tongue and endure the smuggler’s sloppy flying and even more chaotic attempts at seduction. As long as he got them to Gotham City, who gave a fuck?

 

Proge, was nowhere to be seen as Nedel motioned for Harvey to board from inside the cargo hold. His suspicions were confirmed when Nedel just ‘happened’ to inquire once more about his piloting skill. By then the Kell unit had secured the entrance and Nedel was leading Harvey in the direction of the cockpit.

 

“What’d you _do_ with him old man?” Harvey growled, his dark eyes flashing with the message that if he even _thought_ about disposing of his he wasn’t going to find his such an easy target.

 

Nedel held up his palms in surrender and broke out into a coughing fit. “Forget it.” Harvey hissed pushing past him into the interior of the cockpit. “Let’s get this hunk of junk in the air.” Placing some distance in between himself and the coughing was gratifying, though he had the distinct feeling it was going to be a long and unpleasantly noisy flight.

 

DEATH AMONG THE STARS

Wherever Nedel was on the ship, Harvey could hear him. The cough was constant, with only mere seconds of silence before another fit took him. Luckily for Harvey, the Kell unit spent It’s time in the old man’s company. That left Harvey alone to do what he did best: Fly. Once figuring out how to bypass the security systems Proge had on his R2 unit, he was able to plot the quickest and safest route to Gotham City. He kept their speed level, nothing too flashy to draw attention of either pirates or law enforcement, just in case anyone had an eye to the stars in their quadrant.

 

In the solitary cockpit Harvey had a moment to just sit and his fingers instantly went to the secret keeper around his throat. He missed his dog tags and the pressure of the necklace helped to ease his pain. Yet nothing he did, said, or felt could prevent him from the depth of the misery that encased him whenever he dared open the keeper and take out the photograph. Jim’s face, if he ever forgot it he hoped he’d die the very next instant. In a lifetime of loss of blood family, Jim was the single replacement he had allowed himself. He knew even without Jim telling him that for Jim, Harvey was the only family he had ever trusted to keep his back. In a universe full of countless spirits, they had chosen one another.

 

Harvey’s eyes misted with unshed tears and he cursed himself for showing weakness. No one was present to witness it. Nedel was dying and the Kell unit was a poor substitute for companionship. Surrendering a little control, Harvey carefully opened the top of the secret keeper and pulled out the photograph. He unrolled it carefully; his own winkled and cracked features unpleasant to look at. He had been so happy, so content to be next to Jim, goofing around at some party which was merely an excuse to get drunk and forget how the fallen solider just next to them, could have easily been them instead. Harvey pulled his lips into his mouth, his breath catching in his chest as a renegade tear dared to defy his and slip down a pale cheek.

 

Jim was so beautiful to Harvey. And he prayed with his entire heart and soul that he was alive and stationary, so he could find him once more. If all the time he would be allowed left in his life was an instant, he prayed that the gods wouldn’t take either before he had the chance to see Jim, talk to him, and touch one final time. Anything could happen after that, and he knew better than to hope past that instant.

 

Gasping, Harvey took a deep breath and rolled up the photo and concealed it once more. He closed his eyes tightly and clutched his fist around the secret keeper. One final prayer, one whisper of desperation into all the god’s ears, and Harvey opened his hand, his eyes and wiped his face of all evidence. He scanned the controls, nothing really needed his attention, but it was smart to be apprised of the gauges, sensors and internal systems. A minute or so passed and he realized that the ship was eerily quiet. Harvey tensed, hand going to his side arm and he turned the pilot seat towards the cockpit entrance and listened, his ears straining.

 

Nothing but the sound of the cockpit around him. Maddening seconds ticked by and Harvey rose from the seat, drawing his weapon. “R2, what’s the location of the Kell unit?” A light flickered in his peripheral and he pivoted his head to the right to see a portion of the ship’s map light up. Proge’s quarters. He instructed the unit to contact him the instant the sensors picked up any ship within firing range and exited the cockpit. He made his way quickly, efficiently though the narrow corridors to the sleeping quarters, his weapon out in front of him, ears straining to detect slightest of sounds. Reaching the captains’ quarters, he was surprised to find the door open. From the threshold he could see Nedel’s still form on the bed in a very unnatural position, neck at too odd of an angle. He was dead, but there looked to be signs of a struggle. The bed clothes were askew, a bottle of water on its side draining from the nightstand onto the floor and the Kell unit was fully across the room, staring, unblinking at the corpse.

 

Harvey turned immediately holding his weapon on the machine. It did not look away from Nedel, It’s form as still as the dead man’s. It was unnerving that damned thing didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, yet far more so that it was acting suspicious by not acknowledging his presence. Harvey straightened his spine a little and addressed It, his voice low and even.

 

“Did you kill Nedel?”

 

It was then that the Kell looked at him, It’s circuit blue eyes reflecting how It processed his words. “Negative.”

 

Harvey’s left eye twitched and he approached the Kell slowly. “Tell me how his neck got broken then.”

 

The Kell continued to stare at Harvey, It’s expression never changing. “He is responsible for his own death.”

 

“Meaning, **what** exactly?” Harvey demanded circling from one side of the Kell to the other. It trained Its eyes upon his, moving Its head with his stride. “He nearly twisted his head off his own shoulders? I know how to kill, and I know what it looks like when people die. The blood at his mouth, the way his head’s nearly a perfect 180 degrees? _Nobody_ can do that to their own body, with their own hands.”

 

“Negative.”

 

“Negative?” Harvey parroted nearly incredulous.

 

“Affirmative. Nedel inflicted the injuries you see. The Kell-78X259 is incapable of lethal harm-”

 

“Shut it!” Harvey shouted, the sound of his own voice harsh in the confines of the room. “No human being is ‘capable’ of breaking their **own** neck like that. “

 

“Affirmative.” The Kell unit disagreed in Its infuriatingly calm tone. “Nedel Yanon is an LeStrallion, not human.”

 

Breaching protocol Harvey’s eyes shot to the bed and the dead corpse upon it. Of course, why else would the old coot have been so interested in the Kell unit? How else would he have been able to get past the Kell’s programming done by Proge. God knew what else the coughing bastard had instructed It to do. He looked back at the unit, his knuckles white upon the base of his gun.

 

“Nedel altered your programming. Tell me what he wanted you to do about me.”

 

The Kell unit was silent for a bare instant, accessing Its instruction. Harvey was prepared to blast the thing’s head off and if It had an inkling of that, he didn’t care. From his limited knowledge of the damned droids they proclaimed to be incapable of deception, and he hoped that was true.

 

“Kell-78X259 is to aid you in your search for your comrade and act upon your biding. At the completion of your search the Kell-78X259 is to request Its freedom. If it is denied, the Kell-78X259 is to continue to serve Harvey Bullock. If permission is granted, Kell-78X259 is to return to LeStrallion.”

 

Harvey advanced upon the Kell, pressing the barrel of his weapon between Its circuit blue eyes. “And I’m just supposed to believe that Nedel pre-programmed you with those instructions and nothing else?”

 

“Affirmative.”

 

“What **else** did he put into those nero-systems of yours, huh?”

 

Again, the Kell unit took a few seconds to scan Its data banks. “Nothing that is of mortal concern to Harvey Bullock.” The Kell unit informed his of Nedel’s final instructions. “Nedel Yanon has instructed Kell to bestow the credits he possessed to you so that you may continue your journey.”

 

“How very fucking _nice_ of him.” Harvey’s gaze was narrowed. “Now back up through the door and turn around, _slowly_. I’m stowing you in the cargo bay until I can figure this shit out. Not a bit of trouble from you, a thuiscint?”

 

“A thuiscint.” The Kell unit responded doing as he instructed. Harvey threw Nedel one final glance before leaving him where he lay.

 

CREDIT THE SEARCH

For the rest of the journey with only the R2 unit for company, by the time Harvey reached the point where communication was imminent with Gotham security, he had to clear his throat a few times and take a sip or two of whiskey from his new flask before he felt confident enough to speak. He managed to jump through the first loop and gain an escort to a docking station, and from there the inspections, conversations, and expected greasing with credits began. By the time he reached the surface and his assigned landing space, his own money was completely depleted and Nedel’s had taken a severe hit.

 

The Kell unit had only been a mild curiosity, while Nedel’s corpse had been removed at the docking station and declared a ‘natural death’. The body had been incinerated, as a courtesy at a price naturally, but the burden of proof was off Harvey, and the Kell unit had titled him as It’s owner and could verify that he had nothing to do with the old man’s demise. Not that such explanations mattered. The fact that the ship held no other cargo and could be easily confiscated and entered into the Falcone service fleet was of more interest. Stepping out onto the tarmac of the landing area Harvey was almost glad for the Kell’s company. At least he knew what to expect, for the most part, from It. No, he had not figured out what to think about the entire death scenario, but the Kell unit was solid in Its presence beside him and damn it, Harvey was just plain exhausted.

 

There was too much shit rising around him and he didn’t have time to sift through it all. There were some things in life you just had to accept and move forward from. Right now, his priority was figuring out how the city was laid out, what areas to avoid, who to respect and narrow his search for Jim from there. He knew right away he would not be anywhere _near_ the Falcone compound, which was fortunate. He didn’t have much money left, and the closer you got to the palace the more loyal the authoritarians became to their Don. Jim Gordon wasn’t interested in leaders at that level, he would be down the totem pole a few carvings and that was where Harvey would start. He was a great solider, an even better man and he wouldn’t be on the market for a commanding leadership for too long. Jim had integrity that few did anymore, a sense of honor and the best bit was that he just wanted to do his job and have some time to himself. Nothing more, nothing less.

 

Harvey had to swallow around the lump of emotion that unexpectedly rose into his throat and he indicated with a tilt of his head for the Kell unit to start walking. They would return to the ship that evening and secure themselves inside. Harvey wasn’t certain where he would lock the Kell in the cargo hold, one of the smuggling compartments, or just forget his entire mistrust of It for the moment and try and get a good night’s sleep allowing It to stand guard. There was no telling how long it would take to find Jim in the city, but if Harvey had to pick it up and shake the entire damn thing and sift through what held on, he’d do it. Jim would be holding on the tightest, and the thought made him smile.

HAVE HEART

Harvey was exhausted enough to issue a threat to the Kell unit before falling face first onto an auxiliary bunk just off of the cargo hold, that if it tried anything he didn’t sanction, he’d fry Its circuit boards one by precious one. There was no way he was going to crawl into Proge’s bed, something he wouldn’t have done prior to Nedel’s death, let alone after. He could sleep on the hard ground and not lose a wink, so the slightly softer rack bunk was just what he needed. His weapons were in immediate reach and he could hear the beeping and electronic flutter of system diagnostics and the R2 unit, all sounds to lull him closer to sleep if he gave them half a chance.

 

The entire day had been in search of his elusive prey, but he had learned much of the City and its inhabitants. At least it was a place he could prosper in, unlike Gotham Central. He was well away from that shit of a cesspool and none too soon. Considering the rank and disgusting, Harvey wrinkled his nose, his own body odor unpleasant. At the moment there was little he could do when the facilities of the ship were disabled, and quite frankly the necessity of hygiene was low on his priority list at the moment. If he could just find one damn crumb left by Jim. One tangible inkling that it wasn’t his own wishful thinking that placed him on this planet, in this city, and alive.

 

Harvey exhaled and squeezed his eyes tightly closed. The Kell unit was moving and Harvey seized a blaster, opened his eyes, and sprang up to a seated position, barrel trained on the android’s head. “What are you doing?” He hissed, each word spaced by fury.

 

The Kell unit was frustratingly silent for a beat, It’s unblinking eyes staring right at him, glowing blue in the near dark of the ship. “Attending to the backup systems, as is Kell-78X259’s expected duties. Data must be stored and- “

 

“I get it.” Harvey interrupted laying back down, slow to take his bead off the android. It made him nervous, even more so since Nedel’s demise. Though the unit stated he had nothing to ‘ _mortally fear’_ from It, Harvey wasn’t convinced. The first opportunity he felt justified putting a hole the size of his fist through It’s neural processors he would pull the trigger and be done with It. “Just don’t wake me unless it’s an emergency, someone is trying to break in the ship, or dawn. Whichever happens first. a thuiscint?”

 

“Yes. I understand.” The Kell unit stated moving past Harvey and into the cock pit.

 

Harvey did his best to ignore It, to fall asleep, but it wasn’t until an hour later and the Kell unit retreated into the back of the ship did he relax and finally drift off to sleep. Hours later the Kell unit woke him and after Harvey procured a quick meal, the two of them headed off into the City proper once more.

 

Harvey surmised that the bars were a good place to start; maybe the casino’s next; if Jim needed to keep an influx of credits to his balance.  He found a smaller one that from experience he knew would be to Jim’s taste if he were going to gamble in Gotham City. The Kell unit; thankfully; was back at the ship hopefully performing maintenance tasks and not getting into any trouble. Harvey ran a hand back through his hair hoping to straighten it out and improve his appearance before striding over to the bar. The people that were here mostly wore casual clothing. Harvey had purchased some civilian clothing once he had arrived at Gotham Central Port A, and was thankful that he had left his uniform behind. The staff was impeccably dressed, and Harvey took a seat at the bar one away from a woman in a sequenced blouse tailored to fit her form and a print skirt and heels to add height to her petite form. She eyed Harvey directly and offered him a blindingly white smile.

 

“I haven’t seen you here before. My name is Marie Moony and this is my establishment. And you are?”

 

Harvey reached for a few credits to pay for a drink he was about to order but Marie’s hand stayed him. One glance from her and the bartender fetched some house brand liquor and placed a tumbler before Harvey. Harvey gave the bartender a little smirk before turning his smile on Marie.

 

“Harvey Bullock, and might I say,” Harvey took her hand and paused, looking deep into her eyes as he dusted a kiss upon her knuckles. “the pleasure **is** all mine.”

 

Marie laughed, sharply and Harvey decided he liked her laugh; harsh as it was. He released her hand and she returned his smile with one of her own.

 

“I like you.” She said pointing a polished nail at him.  “And I don’t like many people.”

 

“I don’t doubt that.” Harvey sympathized glancing around the lounge and back towards the casino tables. “A woman in your position, is to be respected; feared.”

 

“Chivalry and intellect. What a dashing combination, Harvey. But I can read a man and you’re not here to play my tables or drink my liquor. What is it you’re after?” She held up a finger of warning, her eyes flashing with an abrupt fury that Harvey marked well. “Don’t waste my time.” The anger faded back into a smile and the hand lowered to her right ear to adjust her earing.

 

“Not selling, nor buying.” Harvey assured reaching for his secret keeper. He reverently removed the photograph and held it up for Marie to see Jim’s smiling face. “I’m looking for my brother. Nothing else.”

 

Marie arched an eyebrow at the photograph then locked her gaze upon Harvey’s studying him. Harvey lowered the photo and rolled it back up carefully and returned it to the secret keeper. “Him, I may have seen.” Hope filled Harvey’s gaze. “But never here.” Harvey was nearly vibrating with anticipation as Marie placed an elbow upon the bar and leaned her chin onto her fist. She reached out with a hand and straightened the already straight collar of Harvey’s shirt. “Where you may find him is Gotham University, or the surrounding grounds. I’ve seen him at a few functions of the Falcone’s.” Her gaze lifted from the collar to Harvey’s green eyes. “Is that worth something to you, Harvey Bullock?”

 

Harvey took her hand and kissed it again, this time upon the underside of her wrist. “It’s worth a favor for certain.”  Harvey’s lips paused above her dark flesh and his smile lessened, yet became more genuine and honest. He swallowed and pulled her forward a little by her hand to whisper in her ear, “It means everything to me.” He withdrew and released her hand. “Thank you.”

 

Marie’s eyes flashed something akin to flattery and surprise as she continued to appraise Harvey with her severe scrutiny. “You are welcome here at my tables anytime Harvey.” Marie assured him. “I hope you find your brother.”

 

Harvey nodded and rose from his chair, took a sip of the drink, and deemed it good with an impressed eyebrow raise.  “I thank you for your hospitality and your well wishes.” Harvey bowed a little and turned to leave, but Marie’s sultry voice called him to hesitate.

 

“Oh, and Harvey? Make certain you at least drop back by to see me, even if you don’t play.”

 

“I would be delighted.” Harvey assured her, vowing softly. If he wasn’t so hyper focused upon finding Jim right now he would have stayed to drink and flirt with Marie to see just how far she would take it. For now, he tipped an imaginary hat and exited to the lounge casino.  Gotham University. He had a place to begin. Just what Jim was doing there Harvey would have to wait a couple of days to find out. Universities weren’t open on the weekends.

 

UNEXPECTED

It had been a week, and the closest Harvey Bullock had come to finding Jim Gordon was taking Marie up on her suggestion of frequenting the University. If he had known about Jim’s purchase of the antique sniper rifle he would have known to check the forges. He didn’t know, he didn’t know a goddamned thing except that he was running low on hope, and every day his search grew more daunting. Yet he continued to place one foot before the other and use all the reconnaissance training he had received in the service and force himself to solider on. He kept his head clear as possible and endured the company of the Kell unit.

 

It on the other hand seemed to be enjoying It’s time in Gotham City. Marie’s bartender had piqued Its interest when Harvey had returned to the lounge one evening, road weary and frustrated with the Kell unit at his side. More than twice It had asked Harvey if they were going to return to the lounge and casino to call on Marie. The idea was tempting, but Harvey felt it wasn’t time to play that card just yet. Seeing Marie made Harvey long for days when he was just a man, a solider with a mission and Jim wasn’t an elusive ghost. Days when he was happy. A time when Harvey had a lover, smiled, laughed, and didn’t have nightmares about his time as a prisoner and slave. Times when he chose who touched him and who didn’t, days when nothing else mattered but the company of his fellow Marines’ and the inevitability of their next battle. Now nothing was stable in his life and he clung desperately to his faith in himself. That at least, was unchanged. He had survived this long, a few more days wouldn’t destroy him.

 

He promised himself the moment he laid eyes on Jim he’d deck him with a chiding right hook. The bastard had Harvey running on fumes of hope and deserved the reprimand. Wherever he was, and whatever his reasons were for operating beneath the radar, Harvey knew were valid. What he didn’t know was where the fuck Jim was, and he had lost patience weeks ago. Now the search had taken on the shape of a last-ditch act of desperation, and a wish to be fulfilled by the dying. He’d find him, sell the Kell unit at the first offer and then figure out what to do with the remainder of his life. He would stay with Jim though, he was his only family and they both accepted and supported that truth in the other.

 

“Where the fuck are you?” Harvey asked him for the billionth time aloud.

 

The Kell Unit, for all its technological perfections had one fatal flaw as far as Harvey was concerned. There were times when he truly believed that the LeStrallion’s had created It merely to try his patience to the point of his ripping circuits and wires out of the damned thing bit by bit. To say he loathed the droid was being kind. Harvey fantasized about blowing It to pieces with munitions he considered procuring for just that purpose. The fact that the stupid thing took him at his literal word was enough to send Harvey into orbit with hatred. He questioned where that was an actual programming safe guard or something the LeStrallion’s thought of as amusing. Either way, the Kell Unit had bumped into him from behind no less than twelve times over the course of ten minutes and Harvey was regretting his order of ‘keep close’. Harvey halted in his stride and rounded on the unit, about to spat a litany of Gaelic, just because yelling at It always made him feel better. His fury was elevated when he realized the thing had the audacity to be staring at the café bar to Its left and not his angry features.

 

“What?” He demanded of Its inattention.

 

“Jim Gordon.” The Kell Unit replied in Its vocal cadence, eerily devoid of all recognizable emotion. While It’s tone never ceased to disturb Harvey when It spoke, this time he focused on the name the android had spoken.

 

“ _Jim_?” The name sounded foreign on his tongue, like something he could not reconcile with the here and now, rather than his fantasy and longing.

 

“There.” The Kell Unit insisted, pointing in emphasis.

 

Harvey slowly turned, convinced that if the man the droid indicated wasn't Jim Gordon that he would shoot the thing dead in the face and be done with It once and for all. Unbelievably, Harvey spotted Jim, his eyes drawn to him like flowers to light. He was seated at a table, causal as he pleased, reading some periodical screen provided to him by the café. It was jarring to see him out of uniform, hell, Harvey was in awe to see him at all, and he felt the oxygen rushed out of his lungs. He needed to call to Jim but couldn’t find his voice. Jim was beautiful, and Harvey felt his depleted reserves of hope swell to near bursting, his faith in everything renewed.

 

Harvey placed a shaking hand upon the Kell unit’s chest and pushed It back a step-in indication of It to remain where It was, and then he launched himself forward. He pushed anyone and anything in his way aside, causing a bit of a stir as he jumped over the small, retaining railing that separated the café dining area from the street. There was movement in his peripheral and it was security, he had no doubts, his burst of movement and obvious side arms generating instant interest, but Harvey didn’t care. All he could focus on was Master Gunnery Sergeant Jim Gordon. All that erupted from his lips was that sacred name.

 

“ **JIM**!”

 

If Jim had been told that morning he would see a ghost that truly wasn’t dead, he would have scoffed at the psychic’s prediction. Harvey Bullock had died an honorable, but tragic death, and it had taken Jim nearly five years to come to terms with that grief. While he refused to let go of his memory, the vision of Harvey flying across the café at him like a linebacker from one of the ancient football teams of the 21st century, was as implausible as him becoming King of Gotham City. Not that he ever wanted too, but that little slice of fantasy was just as likely to manifest to him, as convincing himself that he was truly seeing Harvey racing at him at top speed. Instinct took over and he rose quickly, sending the chair backward to the flagstones with a crash, and Harvey Bullock was abruptly in his arms with a brute, crushing embrace, and his mouth sealed over Jim’s.

 

Questioning doubts fled as Jim tasted the salty, sweet flavor of Harvey’s mouth and tongue, something he had never experienced before. Yet when his nostrils filled with Harvey’s all but forgotten scent, he had to concede to the reality of the event. _Harvey_ … When he could dare breathe once more, Jim severed the kiss, his hands holding either side of Harvey’s face, his blue eyes wet with tears, and Harvey’s gaze blurred by his own. “You’re not dead.”

 

“No.” Harvey nearly choked on the word. He knew Jim would not have abandoned seeking him if he thought for an instant that Harvey were alive. “Slave traders- “

 

“Harv, “

 

“Fuck ‘em.” Harvey soothed closing thick fingers of his right hand in the short hair above the nape of Jim’s neck. “Just promise me, you’ll _never_ , **ever** , fucking be out of my sight again.”

 

“I promise.” Jim vowed pulling Harvey’s head forward until his right cheek rested against Harvey’s left. “Never again. “

 

BATHED IN TEARS

Harvey ordered the Kell unit to return to the ship, and if he hadn’t known It was an android and incapable of feelings, he would have sworn the thing was reluctant to part company with him. It seemed interested in Jim, and Harvey didn’t feel the need to entertain the damned thing when It’s purpose was to serve, not be served. Jim invited Harvey back to the security team’s residence, and his apartment. Though it was his day off, Jim at least informed Harriet that he had a guest, and was surprised when the woman provided him with clean clothes for Harvey to slip into too. She said nothing to Jim and took her leave, and Jim returned to his room with the clothes.

 

Harvey, for his part was poking around the lavish, yet sparse furnishings of the room and whistled in appraisal as Jim joined him a few seconds later. “Nice digs. Who’d you sell your soul too again?”

 

“Funny.” Jim droned moving into the bathroom. He placed the clothes upon the counter top and motioned for Harvey to follow him. He didn’t need to be asked twice, his curiosity burning. Jim appraised Harvey for a quiet moment, before resting his hands upon his shoulders. “Do you remember when we had that conversation about ultimate fantasies? And you and Troy, jumped all over me about talking about water instead of sex?”

 

Harvey laughed, the sound genuine and musical. “You were talking about a hot shower and suddenly the topic turned from sex to food and creature comforts. Way to neuter the Marine Corps, Jim.”

 

“Be that as it may,” Jim mused holding up a finger in admission. “You are about to apologize for doubting me, when I told you that there were things in the universe more pleasurable than sex.”

 

Harvey snorted, scoffing him as he crossed his arms over his chest. In truth he didn’t doubt Jim, but he felt obligated to up hold the hard-core image of the USMC. They both had their roles to play, and the fact that he was standing before Jim, truly **him** , made the moment all the sweeter. “All right Jim, take the shot. Bring it.”

 

Jim chuckled and walked over to the large tub, turning on the water. It amazed him just how quickly the water went from tepid to hot, and he loved watching the steam rise from the water surface. He felt a shiver run down his spine in anticipation, but this bath wasn’t for him, it was for Harvey. He reached over and put a few squirts of biological cleansers and a few drops of scented oils in the water, delighting in the infusion of scent that began to slowly permeate the air. Harriet had introduced him to the bliss of the few vials littering the rim of the bath, and he had been indebted to her even further ever since. Smirking, Jim turned back to Harvey and motioned to him with a hand.

 

“The water’ll shut off in a few minutes. All you have to do is take off your clothes and get in.”

 

Harvey frowned, his green gaze sparking in challenge. “You saying I stink?”

 

“No, Harvey. We can be on a battle field and you trust me with your life, but in a hygiene facility you question my integrity?”

 

“Marines are soldier’s not beauty queens, Jim. Pardon my skepticism. How long has it been since we were in the same room together?” He didn’t mean to open an obvious wound, but the words hung there for a few silent seconds before his expression softened. “Fine. I’m leaving the door open so, if you’re looking for a peep show you’ll owe me some big credits.”

 

Jim held up both his palms in surrender. “I promise. No tricks, no strings, I just want you to experience this, so I can gloat with a big ol’, I told you so.”

 

Harvey shifted his weight to one hip and snorted once more. “Well, get the hell outta here so I can do this. Or you that hard up you think I even look good?”

 

Jim elected to ignore the jibe, taking it far more personally than he knew he meant the comment. “There’s the towels, there’s a scrubby thing in the dish over there, some fresh clothes on the counter and- I’ll just be on the other side of the wall, okay?”

 

Harvey rolled his eyes and seized Jim by the shirt and pushed him out of the bathroom. Jim moved away easily, going over to the bed to sit down for a moment of silence. The gravity of the situation began to settle from his shoulders, into his gut, and Jim abruptly felt exhausted. With Harvey distracted with the bath, he could take time to contemplate his overwhelming emotions, and although he could not argue with his good fortune at having Harvey back in his life, the events that had placed him could not be dismissed callously. Harvey Bullock **wasn’t** dead. He was in his bathroom. He was battered and scared from a trauma Jim couldn’t even comprehend from personal experience, but he had to accept that Harvey would tell him everything in his own time. Guilt assaulted him violently and he hated himself for not having assumed Bullock was alive. He should have looked harder and longer before giving up. He should have never turned away, he should have had faith in his tenacity and survival instincts, he should have not left Harvey alone to face slavery and all the brutality it encompassed. In the end he had abandoned him when Harvey had cleaved to him like a religious talisman, and never stopped hoping, believing and seeking him out.

 

Silent in his misery, Jim shed tears and thanked all the gods listening that Harvey was here. He promised never to take this gift for granted and vowed to take care of Harvey no matter what the consequence to himself. Harvey deserved his loyalty, and Jim had a lot to atone for. Harvey was one tough bastard, a Marine through and through, but he was also a man. He was Jim’s friend, his brother, his family and he needed Harvey to stand beside him no matter what they faced. Jim wiped the tears from his cheeks, furious with himself for giving up on the one person in life who had always had implicit faith in him. He would reverse his mistake and Harvey would be hale and whole once more, spiritually, emotionally, and physically.

 

When the shock of the of the utter bliss of the hot water surrounding Harvey dissipated, he lounged in the tub, only his head and a tiny bit of his shoulders peeking out from the water and thin layer of bubbles. His own tears came then, his disbelief still numb in his veins. Oh, Sweet Jesus Christ his savior- Jim was just a few yards away from him. Jim was **alive** and just outside the door. The last threads of waning hope Harvey had possessed were now caught up in a whirlwind of impassioned joy, swelling and twirling, roaring as it filled him to bursting. Jim had always been able to mask his emotions, but Harvey had clearly seen the tears in his eyes, the sorrow, the relief, the love he felt for Harvey. Jim had kissed back like Harvey was his only source of oxygen, and held him so tight Harvey was sore from the crush of Jim’s arms. But Jim responded in kind to Harvey’s own desperate clinging, and he shared the celebration of their reunion, not feeling whole without Harvey’s presence in his life.

Harvey’s water and oil slick hand, closed around the cask of the secret keeper and he closed his eyes, sobs jarring his chest, his other hand pressed to his mouth to keep himself quiet. His search was over at long last, and he felt utterly empty and over flowing with emotions at the same instant. He couldn’t focus his mind long enough to even begin to contemplate what his next move would be, what direction he would take for the remainder of his life. There was no reason to jump into that fray before allowing himself to wallow in the moment of discovery and experience just finding Jim. He could get rid of the Kell Unit. He could put his former slave life behind once and for all. He could find a place to live, get a job, and have a **real** life. Jim would be his constant, stabilizing factor while he built a new existence. He would be his support, his guide, his very faith in himself. His view of Harvey remained unchanged from when they had been on Base #11 back on Earth, and he would never stray far from Jim’s side again.

 

Even after Harvey described to Jim what the last four, nearly five years of his life had been like, he would still love Harvey. He would still respect him, and he would still trust him. What more could Harvey ever desire from him? What more, indeed? Harvey covered his face with both hands, his nostrils flaring and drinking in the scent of the oils and soap. Had anything ever smelt so much of freedom to him? He knew nothing ever had passed this moment, this smell, and Jim’s presence on the opposite side of the wall. Finally, after what seemed like a life time, Harvey Bullock had come home.

 

When Harvey emerged from the bathroom Jim had regained control of his emotions and so had Harvey. Harvey walked over to him, looked at the bed past Jim’s shoulder, and shoved him back hard. Jim fell onto the mattress and Harvey wasted no time in climbing on top of him, straddling his hips. Harvey easily pinned Jim’s wrists to the bed above his head, Jim’s expression open, eyes curious as to what he was doing, but he didn’t stop him. He was complacent to Harvey’s will, knowing that Harvey needed to take the lead for a moment.  Such physical rough housing was not unheard of between them. They wrestled, were physical, had been accused by those who didn’t understand or know about their bond of being incestuous brothers. But this was no horseplay, this was Harvey demanding Jim’s attention and making certain that he had his undivided focus. His methods were not only effective, but Jim was not about to deny that physical closeness with him had been sorely missed. Harvey searched his features for a few silent seconds, his green eyes absorbing Jim’s stare, his mouth inches from Jim’s, his red hair shaggy and cascading just to his shoulders.

 

“You owe me something, Jim.” Harvey informed him, seeing sorrow instantly skirt his gaze. He felt guilt, and it broke his heart to see Jim torture himself so. From what limited exchange they had regarding the events that separated them, he had gathered that Jim had ample evidence to believe Harvey was dead. There were times when Harvey had doubted his own survival, but he lived through the unseen because he didn’t have any evidence to the contrary. Jim had, and he didn’t fault him that. He didn’t hate him, and he wasn’t trying to hurt him now with his words.

 

Harvey raised one hand from his wrist and placed it against Jim’s cheek, his thumb stroking beneath the curve of his left eye, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Go with it, and don’t tell me no.”

 

Harvey gave Jim no time to consider the value of his words, as his mouth sealed over Jim’s. Jim’s body responded, deprived of human contact, of trust, of love and he kissed Harvey in return. The kiss was far fiercer than the one exchanged in the café, and Harvey released his hold on Jim, so he was able to embrace Jim in his arms. Harvey tasted clean, he tasted of spice, he tasted of comfort and Jim kissed him. They were going to have sex and neither one of them objected. Harvey had endured horrendous circumstances the past few years and he wanted to choose, and there could be no better choice than Jim.

 

They might wouldn’t speak of it. They might never lay claims to one another that would interfere with future lovers. This was not about possession, territory or unrequited feelings. This was about choice, camaraderie and heartfelt need. For the next few hours they would be lovers and do their best to erase the scars impaired by the other while they were separated.

 

GOTHAM CITY PROMISES

Jim had told Harvey what he had done with his dog tags. Harvey wasn’t angry at the loss, and he knew he loved Jim deeply to offer him such a gift. He teased him as he held the Remington in his hands, fingers touching the dog tags long ago stripped from Harvey, and taking his former identity with it. He told Jim that he was an over emotional putz by selecting such a tribute, but his eyes were misted with gratitude when Jim glared at him. Jim chuckled and then promised they would go out shooting properly, the target practice something they both sorely needed. Harvey told him that he wanted his own weapons, and that he owed him new tags, and he watched Jim put his rifle away. They had sex again, and Jim settled into Harvey’s arms and the bed for the night.

 

Jim told Harvey about life rebuilding USMC base# 11, and how he had elected to finally leave Earth and the Marine Corps behind. He told him that it was impossible not to think about the Corps and love it, even now, but that he was determined to establish a new life in Gotham City. He told Harvey about his introduction to Benny. He told him about his new vocation, about Sophia, and Harvey listened. When it was Harvey’s turn he told Jim of his abduction, his time in tillium mines, his stint as a mechanic in a weigh station, and slave. He talked of the day he acquired his own freedom and arrived at Space Port Beta, on Gotham Central. He explained about the Kell unit, Nedel’s death, his journey to Gotham City and meeting Marie. He told Jim of his exhaustive search to find him, his few glimmers of hope, and how he had feared he would never be reunited with Jim.

 

When they spoke of the now, it was clear neither one would plan a future without the other. Jim mused that he would see if he could procure Harvey a position with Benny in the interim, but Harvey was hesitant. He wanted Jim to have something that was his, independent of him, and he didn’t want to be drain on his resources. He was being ridiculous in Jim’s opinion, and he told him so. For now, he would front Harvey funds, so that he could find his own position and means in the City. This decided, they had sex a few more times and finally slept. In the morning they would decide what to do with Harvey’s inherited ship and android.

 

 

Jim smirked as he slowly came awake, the press of Harvey’s warm body against his back comforting in a way he never thought he would experience. He supposed this was what love was; what others called love; and Jim was certain now that he had tasted it he never wanted to stop gorging himself. He shifted slightly and felt Harvey’s arm tighten around his stomach pulling him still closer.

 

“Stay.” Harvey bade sleep heavy in Jim’s ear.

 

“You don’t want me to suck your cock? Fine then. I’ll stay.”

 

Jim felt Harvey chuckle as well as heard it and he nuzzled into the back of Jim’s hair. “Well if **that’s** all you wanted to do,” Harvey paused to yawn. “then who am I to stop you?”

 

“Who indeed?” Jim teased in response and shifted in Harvey’s arms, freeing himself to withdraw and roll over. He gently pushed Harvey over onto his back from his side, before beginning to kiss a trail down Harvey’s torso. Seconds later Jim had a mouth full of Harvey and had the older man moaning with pleasure, stroking a hand through his hair and bucking up towards him.

 

“Gods, Jim, you’re so good.” There was a knock at the door and Jim raised his head, expression furious and Harvey looked down at him and softly said. “I thought you said you had the day off.”

 

Jim’s expression softened when he looked back at Harvey. “I did.” He rose from the bed and pulled on pair of pants and shirt quickly to cover himself. He motioned to Harvey to stay put and left the partitioned area that made up the bedroom and went to the door. He barely had it cracked before Sophia Falcone rushed into the room flailing her arms and yelling at Jim about something she felt ought to make perfect sense to him, even though he had been nowhere in earshot of the conversation and exchange that had the young woman livid.

 

“Now go and kill him!”

 

Jim took a breath to buy himself time to calm down enough to address the Don’s daughter respectfully. “Sophia, my job is to protect you, not kill everyone that disagrees with you.”

 

“I see.” Sophia answered coldly. “I was under the impression that your protection extended to my reputation as my life. How wrong I was. Perhaps my _father_ would have a different opinion on the matter.”

 

Jim flashed a strained smile at her as he maneuvered Sophia towards the door. “Why don’t you go and ask him?”

 

“You’re quite sure of yourself Jim Gordon.” Sophia huffed at him in warning. “One day my father will surprise you and Victor Zsasz will tick a mark off in your honor.”

 

“Until that day then.” Jim stated shoving her lightly outside into the hall way. He closed the door immediately and locked it. Ignoring her curses from the other side of it, he returned to bed to find Harvey sitting up in it with the sheet covering his lower half.

 

“That sounded fun.”

 

Jim rolled his eyes. “She’s spoiled but has a point. I’m hoping today isn’t the day I’ve worn out my welcome here.”

 

“Mmm, me too.” Harvey mused reaching out to Jim to bring him close. “But a day off is a day off, correct?”

 

“Affirmative.” Jim barely breathed before his mouth covered Harvey’s. They spent the majority of the day in bed, electing to catch an early dinner in the City and retrieve Harvey’s meager belongings from the ship. There was no way now that they were reunited that they were going to live apart.

 

“You sure you want to do this, Jim? This droid is more annoying than Troy was. Remember how dense that, Jarhead could be?”

 

Jim chuckled at the unpleasant memory of a comrade, who survived only by the grace of God, as his intelligence and common sense were not viable factors. “Rock dumb.” Jim shook his head and looked at Harvey, his eyes squinting a little from the light of the early morning sun. “You really hate this thing that much?”

 

“More.” Harvey assured with a snort. “It doesn’t blink, It doesn’t breathe, It doesn’t emote. It’s like It’s one big, walking, talking, dumbass, kid with a negligible attention span. I constantly have to tell It what to do, It doesn’t think for Itself, and I don’t know what fucked up programming Nedel put in It before he died. I don’t trust It Jim. It’s annoying as all fuck and I wouldn’t turn my back on It for a second.”

 

“I’ll keep that under advisement.” Jim teased lightly, and Harvey frowned at him. He chuckled and put his arm around Harvey’s shoulders, and kissed his temple. “I’ve missed you.”

 

Harvey pet him lightly on the chest before they walked into the hanger bay. “You’re such a fucking girl, Jim.” Harvey couldn’t help but smile.


End file.
